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THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


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Copyright,  zg04 
By  Nathan  Haskell  Dole 


INTRODUCTION 

According  to  Homer,  the  Immortal 
Gods  had  occasional  opportunity  for 
indulging  in  merriment.  The  serious 
side  of  human  life  or  their  own  affairs 
did  not  entirely  occupy  them.  It  might 
be  imagined  that  they  regarded  men  and 
women  as  enacting  tragedies  and  come- 
dies for  their  delectation.  Perhaps  the 
tragedy  preponderates  ;  it  certainly  does 
for  the  actors.  Even  those  of  us  who 
recognize  that  we  are  performing  come- 
dies and  farces,  and  who,  by  the  very 
fact  that  we  are  selected  for  such  parts, 
must  see  the  fun  of  it,  else  we  should  act 
them  as  dully  as  "  Bottom  the  Weaver  " 
and  the  other  clowns  in  "  Pyramus  and 
Thisbe  "  —  even  we,  I  say,  use  our  for- 
tunate sense  of  humour  as  a  palliative  to 
the  pathos  of  our  real  existence.  Blessed 
indeed  is  the  sense  of  humour.  It  is  a 
balm,  a  cordial.  Great  men  who  lack  it 
are  vastly  less  great  because  they  lack  it. 

Certain  nations  characteristically  lean 


to  the  serious  or  the  comic.  One 
searches  with  great  expenditure  of  labour 
for  humourous  or  witty  literature  delivered 
to  us  by  the  Romans.  What  there  is 
will  probably  send  a  tap-root  into  Greek 
soil.  Plautus  and  Terence  were  at  most 
adapters  if  not  translators.  The  Coli- 
seum and  the  rule  of  the  pollice  verso 
were  not  keyed  to  Comedy.  No  doubt 
in  the  cultivated  and  brilliant  society 
which  Maecenas  and  Augustus  gathered 
around  them  there  was  display  of  wit. 
Horace  was  gifted  with  it.  Catullus 
showed  sparks  of  it.  But  the  satirists 
were  too  grim  and  savage  to  observe  the 
amenities.  Not  until  Martial  do  we 
find  much  scope    for  citation. 

With  the  Greeks,  on  the  other  hand, 
wit  and  humour  were  spontaneous  and 
indigenous.  It  begins  with  Homer. 
Aristophanes  is  full  of  quotable  passages. 
There  are  hundreds  of  witty  sayings  that 
have  come  down  to  our  day  and  passed 
current  in  every  age  and  still  go  from 
hand  to  hand.  The  whole  field  of 
Greek  literature  is  rich  in  epigrammatic 
sentences. 


u 


The  present  volume  is  devoted  almost 
wholly  to  brief  selected  passages  from 
Aristophanes  and  Lucian.  Aristoph- 
anes's  life  covered  the  last  half  of 
the  fourth  century  b.  c,  and  he  died  in 
388.  Lucian  was  born  in  Syria  and 
lived  from  125  until  180  a.  d.  In 
their  treatment  of  the  Gods  they  are 
surprisingly  similar.  The  skeptical  in- 
solence of  their  arraignment  is  only 
equalled  by  the  keenness  of  their  satire. 
Both  of  them  wonderfully  combine  wit 
and  humour.  There  is  the  flash  and 
also  the  radiance.  Consequently,  even 
under  the  veil  of  a  translation,  much  of 
what  they  wrote  is  as  perennially  young 
and  as  modern  as  if  written  for  the  men 
of  our  day.  A  few  of  the  best  epigrams 
of  Martial,  a  Spaniard,  whose  life  covered 
the  last  half  of  the  first  century  of  our 
era,  are  added. 

These  three  authors,  thus  brought  into 
comparison,  show  Greek  and  classic  wit 
and  humour  to  the  highest  advantage. 

N.  H.  D. 


m 


SELECTIONS    FROM 

ARISTOPHANES  AND 

LUCIAN 

I. 

Scenes  from  Aristophanes 

(From  the  translation  of  Thomas  Hookhara  Frere) 

DICiEOPOLIS  AND  THE  MEGA- 
RIAN 

Enter  a  Megarian  with  his  two   little 
girls. 

Megariak.  Ah,  there's  the  Athenian 
market !      Heaven  bless  it, 
I  say ;    the  welcomest  sight  to  a  Mega- 
rian. 


I've  looked  for  it,  and  longed  for  it,  like 

a  child 
For  its  own  mother.    You,  my  daughters 

dear, 
Disastrous  offspring  of  a  dismal  sire. 
List  to   my  words ;    and  let  them   sink 

imprest 
Upon  your  empty  stomachs ;   now's  the 

time 
That    you    must    seek   a   livelihood    for 

yourselves. 
Therefore  resolve  at  once,  and  answer 

me ; 
Will  you  be   sold   abroad,  or  starve   at 

home  ? 
Both.  Let  us  be  sold,  papa  !     Let  us 

be  sold  ! 
Meg.    I  say  so  too ;   but  who  do  ye 

think  will  purchase 
Such  useless  mischievous  commodities  ? 
However,  I  have  a  notion  of  my  own, 
A  true  Megarian    scheme ;    I    mean   to 

sell  ye 


'^..ft^l  K/" 


.^-^^^ 


Disguised  as  pigs,  with  artificial  pettitoes. 
Here,    take    them,    and    put    them    on. 

Remember  now. 
Show  yourselves  off;   do  credit  to  your 

breeding. 
Like  decent  pigs ;  or  else,  by  Mercury, 
If  I'm    obliged    to    take    you    back    to 

Megara, 
There  you  shall  starve,  far  worse  than 

heretofore. 
This  pair  of  masks  too  —  fasten  'em 

on  your  faces. 
And  crawl  into  the  sack  there   on   the 

ground. 
Mind     ye  —  Remember  —  you     must 

squeak  and  whine. 
And  racket  about  like  little  roasting  pigs. 

And  I'll  call  out  for  DicaeopoUs. 

Ho,  Dicaeopolis,  Dicaeopolis  ! 

I    say,  would   you   please  to   buy  some 

pigs  of  mine  ? 
DiCiEOPOLis.  What's  there  ?  a  Mega- 

rian  ? 


Mi 


Meg.  [sneaking/y].  Yes  —  We're  come 

to  market. 
Die.   How  goes  it  with  you  ? 
Meg.  We're  all  like  to  starve. 

Die.  Well,  liking  is  everything.     If 
you  have  your  liking, 
That's  all  in  all :    the  likeness  is  a  good 

one, 
A   pretty   likeness  !    like  to   starve,  you 

say. 
But  what  else  are  you  doing  ? 

Meg.  What  we're  doing  ? 

I  left  our  governing  people  all  contriv- 
ing 
To  ruin  us  utterly  without  loss  of  time. 
Die.  It's  the  only  way :    it  will  keep 
you  out  of  mischief, 
Meddling  and  getting  into  scrapes. 

Meg.  Ay,  yes. 

Die.  Well,  what's  your  other  news  ? 

How's  corn  ?     What  price  ? 
Meg.   Corn  ?  it's  above  all  price ;  we 
worship  it. 


!.:...-i^^y^t 


8 


Die.     But 
reckon  — 

Meg.  Salt  ?  how  should  we  ? 

Have  not  you  seized  the  salt  pans  ? 

Die.  No  !  nor  garlic  ,'' 

Have  not  ye  garlic  ? 

Meg.  What  do  ye  talk  of  garlic  ? 

As  if  you  had  not  wasted  and  destroyed 

And  grubbed  the  very  roots  out  of  the 
ground. 
Dig.  Well,  what  have  you  got  then  ? 

Tell  us  !    Can't  ye  ! 
Meg.    [in  the  tone  of  a  sturdy  resolute 
lie].  Pigs  — 

Pigs  truly  —  pigs  forsooth,  for  sacrifice. 
Die.  That's  well,  let's  look  at  'em. 
Meg.         Ay,  they're  handsome  ones  ; 
You  mav  feel  how  heavy  they  are,  if  ye 
hold  'em  up. 
Die.  Hey-day  !   What's  this  ?  What's 

here  ? 
Meg.     a  pig,  to  be  sure. 


r4 

r 

Die.  Do  ye  say  so  ?     Where  does  it 

% 

come  from  ? 

J 
^ 

nflji^ 

Meg.                Come  ?  from  Megara. 
What,  ain't  it  a  pig  ? 

Die.       No  truly,  it  does  not  seem  so. 
Meg.    Did   you   ever   hear  the   like  ? 
Such  an  unaccountable 
Suspicious   fellow  !    it   is  not   a   pig,  he 

says  ! 
But  I'll  be  judged  ;    I'll  bet  ye  a  bushel 

of  salt, 
It's  what  we  call  a  natural  proper  pig. 
Die.   Perhaps  it  may,  but  it's  a  human 

pig- 
Meg.      Human !      I'm    human ;     and 

they're  mine,  that's  all. 

Whose  should  they  be,  do  ye  think  ?    so 

far  they're  human. 

But  come,  will  you  hear  'em  squeak  ? 

Die.  Ay,  yes,  by  Jove, 

With  all  my  heart. 

Meg.    Come    now,    pig !    now's    the 

time  : 

^^ 

iHiii^^ 

lO 


Remember    what    I    told    ye  —  squeak 

directly  ! 
Squeak,  can't  ye  ?     Curse  ye,  what's  the 

matter  with  ye  ? 
Squeak  when  I  bid  you,  I  say ;  by  Mer- 
cury 
I'll   carry   you   back  to   Megara   if  you 
don't. 
Daugh.     Wee  wee. 
Meg.  Do  ye  hear  the  pig  ? 

Die.  The  pig,  do  ye  call  it  ? 

It  will  be  a  different  creature  before  long. 
Meg.  It  will  take  after  the   mother, 

like  enough. 
Die.    Ay,  but  this  pig  won't  do   for 

sacrifice. 
Meg.  Why  not  ?     Why  won't  it  do 

for  sacrifice  ? 
Die.  Imperfect  I  here's  no  tail ! 
Meg.  Poh,  never  mind  ; 

It  will  have  a  tail  in  time,  like  all  the 

rest. 
But  feel  this  other,  just  the  fellow  to  it ; 


II 


^ 


S^^", 


With  a  little  further  keeping,  it  would 

serve 
For  a  pretty  dainty  sacrifice  to  Venus. 
Die.  You  warrant  'em  weaned  ?  they'll 

feed  without  the  mother  ? 
Meg.     Without    the    mother    or    the 

father  either. 
Die.   But  what  do  they  like  to  eat  ? 
Meg.  Just  what  ye  give  'em  ; 

You  may  ask  'em  if  you  will. 
Die.  Pig,  Pig ! 

1ST  Daugh.  Wee  wee. 

Die.   Pig,  are  ye  fond  of  peas  ? 
1ST  Daugh.         Wee  wee,  Wee  wee. 
Die.  Are  ye  fond  of  figs  ? 
1ST  Daugh.     Wee  wee.  Wee    w6e, 

Wee  wee. 
Die.  You  little  one,  are  you  fond  of 

figs  ? 
2D  Daugh.  Wee  wee. 

Die.     What    a    squeak    was    there ! 

they're  ravenous  for  the  figs ; 
Go  somebody,  fetch  out  a  parcel  of  figs 


12 


/. 


Mlt^ 


For  the  little  pigs  !      Heh,  what,  they'll 

eat,  I  warrant. 
Lawk  there,  look  at   'em  racketing  and 

bustling ! 
How  they  do  munch  and  crunch  !  in  the 

name  of  heaven, 
Why,  sure  they  can't  have  eaten  'em  all 
already  ! 
Meg.   [sneakingly].  Not  al!,  there's  this 

one  here,  I  took  myself. 
Die.  Well,  faith,  they're  clever  comi- 
cal animals. 
What  shall  I  give  you  for  'em  ?     What 
do  ye  ask  ? 
Meg.   I  must  have  a  gross  of  onions 
for  this  here ; 
And  the  other  you  may  take  for  a  peck 
of  salt. 
Die.  I'll  keep  'em  ;    wait  a  moment. 

[Exit. 
Meg.  Heaven  be  praised  ! 

O  blessed  Mercury,  if  I  could  but  man- 
age 


;vi^<EI>:::^ 


13 


.•.••.• 


14 


DIC^OPOLIS    AND    THE 
THEBAN    HUCKSTER 

Enter  a  Theban  with  his  attendants.,  all 
bearing  burdens ;  followed  by  a  train 
of  bagpipers. 

Theban.  Good  troth,  I'm  right  down 

shoulder-galled ;  my  lads, 
Set  down  your  bundles.     You,  take  care 

o'  the  herbs. 
Gently,  be  sure  don't  bruise  'em ;    and 

now,  you  minstrels. 
That  needs  would  follow  us  all  the  way 

from  Thebes ; 
Blow  wind  i'  the  tail  of  your  bagpipes, 

puff  away. 
Die.   Get  out !  what  wind  has  brought 

'em  here,  I  wonder  ? 
A  parcel  of  hornets  buzzing  about  the 

door ! 
You  humble-bumble  drones — Get  out ! 

Get  out ! 


15 


£<£  J 


Theb.  As  lolaus  shall  help  me,  that's 
well  done, 

Friend,  and  I  thank  you;  —  coming  out 
of  Thebes, 

They  blew  me  away  the  blossom  of  all 
these  herbs. 

You've  sarved  'em  right.    So  now  would 
you  please  to  buy. 

What  likes  you  best,  of  all  my  chaffer 
here ; 

All  kinds,  four-footed  things  and  feath- 
ered fowl. 
Die.   [suddenly^  with  the  common   trick 
of  condescension^  as  if  he  had  not  ob- 
served him  before^ 

My     little    tight     Boeotian !     Welcome 
kindly, 

My    little    pudding-eater !     What    have 
you  brought  ? 
Theb.   In  a  manner,  everything,  as  a 
body  may  say  ; 

All  the  good  cheer  of  Thebes,  and  the 
primest  wares, 


i6 


w'^j 


Mats,    trefoil,   wicks    for    lamps,   sweet 

marjoram. 
Coots,     didappers,     and     water-hens  — 

what  not  ? 
Widgeon  and  teal. 

Die.  Why,  you're  come  here  amongst 

us. 
Like  a  north  wind  in  winter,  with  your 

wild  fowl. 
Theb.  Moreover  I've  brought  geese, 

and  hares  moreover. 
And  eels  from  the  lake  Copais,  which  is 

more. 
Die.    O   thou  bestower  of  the   best 

spichcocks 
That  ever  yet  were  given  to  mortal  man. 
Permit    me    to    salute    those    charming 

eels. 
Theb.  [addressing  the  lel^  and  deliver- 
ing it  to  DiejEOPOLis]. 
Daughter,    come    forth,    and    greet    the 

courteous  stranger. 
First-born  of  fifty  damsels  of  the  lake  ! 


\\^ 


17 


^fe: 


'6 


'^> 


IP5^a^i! 


Die.  O  long  regretted  and  recovered 

late, 
Welcome,  thrice  welcome  to  the  Comic 

Choir; 
Welcome  to  me,  to  Morychus,'  and  all. 
(Ye  slaves  prepare  the  chafing  dish  and 

stove.) 
Children,  behold  her  here,  the  best  of 

eels. 
The   loveliest    and    the  best,  at  length 

returned 
After  six  years  of  absence.     I  myself 
Will  furnish  you  with  charcoal  for  her 

sake. 
Salute  her  with  respect,  and  wait  upon 
Her  entrance  there  within,  with  due  con- 
veyance. 
[The  eel  is  here   carried  off  by  DiCM- 
opoLis's  servants.] 

*  At  the  close  of  the  play,  a  splendid  supper 
was  given  by  the  choregus  to  the  whole  Comic 
Choir;  authors,  actors,  and  judges.  Morychus 
was  a  noted  epicure. 


mi^^^wft^M^ 


l8 


yum. 


Grant  me,  ye  gods !  so  to  possess  thee 

still, 
While   my  life  lasts,  and  at   my  latest 

hour. 
Fresh  even  and  sweet  as  now,  with  .  .  . 
savoury  sauce. 
Theb.   But  how  am  I  to  be  paid  for 

it  ?     Won't  you  tell  me  ? 
Die.  Why,  with  respect  to  the  eel,  in 
the  present  instance, 
I  mean  to  take  it  as  a  perquisite. 
As  a  kind  of  toll  to  the  market ;    you 

understand  me. 
These  other  things  of  course  are  meant 
for  sale. 
Theb.  Yes,  sure.    I  sell  'em  all. 
Die.  Well,  what  do  you  ask  ? 

Or  would  you  take  commodities  in  ex- 
change ? 
Theb.   Ayj    think  of   something  of 
your  country  produce. 
That's  plentiful  down  here,  and  scarce 
up  there. 


>\ 


i;:&^>^ 


19 


■^31^ 


*^' 


''<ii 


f<.s^ 


."»!>" 
^.^. 


Die.  Well,  you  shall  take  our  pilchards 

or  our  pottery. 
Theb.  Pilchards  and  pottery  !   Naugh, 
we've  plenty  of  they. 
But   think  of  something,  as  I   said  be- 
fore. 
That's  plentiful  down  here,  and  scarce 
up  there.  * 
Die.  [after  a  moment's  reflection^. 
I   have  it !    A  true-bred    sycophant    and 

informer. 
I'll  give  you  one,  tied  neatly  and  corded 

up. 
Like  an  oil-jar. 

Theb.  Ayj   that's  fair;   by  the  holy 
twins  ! 
He'd  bring  in  money,  I  warrant,  money 

enough, 
Amongst  our  folks  at  home,  with  show- 
ing him. 
Like  a  mischief-full  kind  of  foreign  ape. 
Die.  Well,  there's  Nicarchus  moving 
down  this  way. 


20 


^ 


^ 


w 


Laying    his    informations.        There    he 
comes. 
Theb.   [contemplating  him  with  the  eye 
of  a  purchaser']. 
'A  seems  but  a  small  one  to  look  at. 

Die.  Ay,  but  I  promise  ye, 

He's  full  of  tricks  and  roguery,  every  inch 
of  him. 

Enter  Nicarchus,  an  informer. 

NiCARCHUS  [;■;;  the  pert  peremptory  tone 
of  his  profession']. 
Whose  goods  are  these  ?  these  articles  ? 
Theb.  Mine,  sure; 

We  be  come  here  from  Thebes. 

Nic.  Then  I  denounce  them 

As  enemies'  property. 

Theb.    [with    an    immediate     outcryl. 

Why,  what  harm   have  they  done, 

The  birds  and  creatures  ?     Why  do  you 

quarrel  with  'em  ? 

Nic.  And  I'll  denounce  you  too. 

Theb.  What,  me  ?   What  for  ? 


21 


Nic.  To    satisfy  the   bystanders,  I'll 
explain. 
You've  brought  in  wicks  of  lamps  from 
an  enemy's  country. 
Die.    ^ironlca/Iy'^  .     And  so,  you  bring 

'em  to  light  F 
Nic.  I  bring  to  light 

A  plot !  —  a  plot  to  burn  the  arsenal ! 
Die.    [ironically'^ .      With  the  wick  of 

a  lamp  ? 
Nic.  Undoubtedly. 

Die.  In  what  way  ? 

Nie.    [with  great  gravity"] .      A   Boeo- 
tian might  be  capable  of  fixing  it 
On  the  back  of  a  cockroach,  who  might 

float  with  it 
Into     the    arsenal,    with    a    north-east 

wind ; 
And  if  once  the  fire  caught  hold  of  a 

single  vessel. 
The  whole  would  be  in  a  blaze. 

Die.    [seizing  hold  of  him~\.   You  dog  ! 
You  villain  " 


22 


V 


w 


Would  a  cockroach  burn  the  ships  and 
the  arsenal  ? 
Nic.   Bear  witness  all  of  ye. 
Die.  There,  stop  his  mouth  j 

And  bring  me  a  band  of  straw  to  bind 

him   up ; 
And  send  him  safely  away,  for  fear  of 

damage. 
Gently  and  steadily,  like  a  potter's  jar. 
Chorus.  To    preserve  him  safe  and 
sound. 
You  must  have  him  fairly  bound. 
With  a  cordage  nicely  wound. 
Up  and  down,  and  round  and  round  j 
Securely  packed. 
Dig.   I  shall  have  a  special  care. 
For  he's  a  piece  of  paltry  ware  ; 
And    as    you     strike     him,    here  —  or 
there  —  [Striking  him] 

The  noises  he  returns  declare  — 

[  The  informer  screaming] 
He's  partly  cracked. 
Chor.  How  then  is  he  fit  for  use  ? 


23 


'// 


^ 


Mv 


iVn 


Wl 


Die.  As  a  store-jar  of  abuse. 
Plots  and  lies  he  cooks  and  brews, 
Slander  and  seditious  news, 
Or  anything. 
Chor.   Have    you    stowed    him    safe 

enough  ? 
Die.  Never  fear,  he's  hearty  stuff; 
Fit  for  usage  hard  and  rough, 
Fit  to  beat  and  fit  to  cuff, 

To  toss  and  fling. 
You  can  hang  him  up  or  down. 
By  the  heels  or  by  the  crown. 

Theb.   I'm  for  harvest  business  bown. 
Chor.     Fare     ye     well,     my     jolly 
clown. 

We  wish  ye  joy. 
You've  a  purchase  tight  and  neat; 
A  rogue,  a  sycophant  complete ; 
Fit  to  bang  about  and  beat, 
Fit  to  stand  the  cold  and  heat. 
And  all  employ. 
Die.   I'd  a  hard  job  with  the  rascal, 
tying  him  up  ! 


V"ii 


24 


25 


^i; 


im 


is  f. 


ij^ 


;««^>j 


A   DEBATER   DESCRIBED 


^-^-TiMv>;5 


Cleon.  Ay !  You're  a  speaker,  I 
suppose !  I  should  enjoy  to  see 
you, 

Like  a  pert   scullion    set   to   cook  —  to 
see  your  talents  fairly 

Put  to  the  test,  with  hot  blood-raw  dis- 
jointed news  arriving, 

Obliged  to  hash  and  season  it,  and  dish 
it  in  an  instant. 
You're    like    the    rest    of    'em  —  the 
swarm  of  paltry  weak    pretenders. 

You've  made  your  pretty  speech  perhaps, 
and  gained  a  little  lawsuit 

Against    a   merchant    foreigner,  by  dint 
of  water-drinking. 

And  lying  long  awake  o'  nights,  compos- 
ing and  repeating. 

And  studying  as  you  walked  the  streets, 
and  wearing  out  the  patience 


26 


27 


I'^^r^^f  sj 


■^^K-. 


PEACE   vs.   PILCHARDS 

Chor.    [/o  the  Sausage  -  Seller]  . 

O  best  of  men  !   thou  tightest  heartiest, 
fellow ! 

What  a  terror  and  alarm  had  you  cre- 
ated 

In  the  hearts  of  all  your  friends  by  this 
delay. 

But  since  at  length  in  safety  you  return, 

Say  what  was  the  result  of  your  attempt. 
Sausage  -  Seller.  The  result  is ;  you 
may  call  me  Nickoboulus  ; 

For    I've    nicked    the    Boule  there,  the 
Senate,  capitally. 

Chor.  Then  we  may  chant  amain 
In  an  exulting  strain, 
With  ecstasy  triumphant  bold  and  high, 

O  thou  ! 
That     not    in     words    alone,  or    subtle 
thought. 


28 


But  more  in  manly  deed, 
Hast    merited,  and  to  fair  achievement 
brought ! 
Relate  at  length  and  tell 
The  event  as  it  befell ; 
So  would  I  gladly  pass  a  weary  way ; 
Nor  weary  would  it  seem. 
Attending  to  the  theme. 
Of  all  the  glories  of  this  happy  day. 
[/«  a  familiar  tone,,  as  if  clapping  him 
on  the  shoulder?^ 
Come,   my   jolly   worthy    fellow,   never 

fear ! 
We're   all  delighted   with  you  —  let    us 
hear  ! 
S.  S.  Ay,  ay  —  It's  well  worth  hear- 
ing, I  can  tell  ye  : 
I  followed  after  him  to  the  Senate  House ; 
And  there  was  he,  storming,  and  roaring, 

driving 
His    thunderbolts    about    him,    bowling 

down 
His  biggest  words  to  crush  the  cavaliers. 


mi 


29 


A 


.^ 


-::<iS3>>'v 


Like  stones  from  a  hill-top  j  calling  them 
traitors, 

Conspirators  —  what    not  ?     There    sat 
the  Senate 

With  their  arms  folded,  and  their  eye- 
brows bent. 

And  their  lips  puckered,  with  the  grave 
aspect 

Of  persons  utterly  humbugged  and  bam- 
boozled. 
Seeing  the   state  of  things,  I   paused 
awhile. 

Praying  in  secret  with  an  under  voice  : 
"  Ye  influential  impudential  powers 

Of    sauciness    and    jabber,    slang    and 
jaw  ! 

Ye  spirits  of  the  market-place  and  street. 

Where  I  was  reared  and  bred  —  befriend 
me  now  ! 

Grant    me  a  voluble  utterance,   and    a 
vast 

Unbounded   voice,  and   steadfast   impu- 
dence !  " 


30 


Whilst  I  thus  thought  and  prayed,  on 
the  right  hand, 

I  heard  a  sound  of  wind  distinctly  broken  I 

I  seized  the  omen  at  once ;  and  bounc- 
ing up, 

I  burst  among  the  crowd,  and  bustled 
through, 

And  bolted  in  at  the  wicket,  and  bawled 
out : 

"  News !  news !  I've  brought  you 
news  !  the  best  of  news  ! 

Yes,  Senators,  since  first  the  war  be- 
gan, 

There  never  has  been  known,  till  now 
this  morning, 

Such  a  haul  of  pilchards."  Then  they 
smiled  and  seemed 

All  tranquillized  and  placid  at  the  pros- 
pect 

Of  pilchards  being  likely  to  be  cheap. 

I  then  proceeded  and  proposed  a  vote 

To  meet  the  emergence  secretly  and 
suddenly  : 


31 


r^' 


if  To  seize  at  once  the  trays  of  all  the 
workmen 

And  go  with  them  to  market  to  buy 
pilchards. 

Before  the  price  was  raised.  Imme- 
diately 

They  applauded,  and  sat  gaping  all  to- 
gether. 

Attentive  and   admiring.      He  perceived 

it; 

And  framed  a  motion,  suited  as  he 
thought 

To  the  temper  of  the  Assembly.  "I 
move,"  says  he, 

"  That  on  occasion  of  this  happy  news. 

We  should  proclaim  a  general  thanks- 
giving ; 

With  a  festival  moreover,  and  a  sacri- 
fice 

Of   a    hundred    head    of  oxen ;    to   the 
goddess." 
Then  seeing  he  meant  to  drive  me  to 
the  wall 


32 


With  his  hundred  oxen,  I  overbid   him 

at  once  ; 
And  said  "  two  hundred,"  and  proposed 

a  vow, 
For  a  thousand  goats  to   be  offered   to 

Diana, 
Whenever  sprats  should  fall  to  forty  a 

penny. 
With  that   the  Senate  smiled  upon   me 

again ; 
And    he    grew   stupefied    and  lost,   and 

stammering ; 
And  attempting  to  interrupt  the  current 

business, 
Was  called  to  order,  and  silenced  and 

put  down. 
Then  they  were  breaking  up  to  buy 

their  pilchards  : 
But  he  must  needs  persist,  and  beg  for  a 

hearing  — 
"  For  a  single  moment  —  for  a  messen- 
ger— 
For    a    herald     that    was     come     from 

Lacedaemon, 


%'€: 


^ 


?!'> 


33 


SK 


t% 


^M 


^-' 


With  an  ofFer  of  peace  —  for  an  au- 
dience to  be  given  him." 

But  they  broke  out  in  an  uproar  all 
together : 

"  Peace  truly  !  Peace  forsooth  !  Yes, 
novv's  their  time ; 

I  warrant  'em ;  when  pilchards  are  so 
plenty. 

They've  heard  of  it ;  and  now  they  come 
for  peace  ! 

No  !  No  !  No  peace  !  The  war  must 
take  its  course." 

Then  they  called  out  to  the  Presidents  to 
adjourn  ; 

And  scrambled  over  the  railing  and  dis- 
persed ; 

And  I  dasht  down  to  the  market-place 
headlong  ; 

And  bought  up  all  the  fennel,  and  be- 
stowed it 

As  donative,  for  garnish  to  their  pil- 
chards. 

Among  the  poorer  class  of  Senators ; 


:jSA4i 


34 


35 


V 


v 


IN    HOOPOE   LAND 

EuELPiDES.   But    tell    me   among  the 
birds  here,  how  do  ye  find  it  ? 
What  kind  of  an  existence  ? 

Hoopoe.  Pretty  fair; 

Not  much  amiss.  Time  passes  smoothly 

enough ; 
And  money  is  out  of  the  question.      We 
don't  use  it. 
Eu.  You've   freed  yourselves  from  a 

great  load  of  dross. 
Hoo.  We've    our  field   sports.     We 
spend  our  idle  mornings 
With  banqueting  and    collations  in  the 

gardens, 
With  poppy-seeds  and  myrtle. 

Eu.  So  your  time 

Is  passed  like  a  perpetual  wedding-day. 

[Peisthetairus,  who  has  hitherto  felt 
his    way     by   putting    Euelpides 


36 


forward^  and  allowing  him  to  take 
the  lead^  and  who  has  paid  no  at- 
tention to  this  trijiing  inconclusive 
conversation^  breaks  out  as  from  a 
profound  reflective  reverie. '\ 

Peisthetairus.   Ha !    "What  a  power 
is  here  !     What  opportunities  ! 

If  I  could  only  advise  you.     I  see  it  all ! 

The  means   for  an  infinite   empire    and 
command  ! 
Hoo.  And    what   would  you  have  us 

do  ?     What's  your  advice  ? 
Peis.  Do  ?     What  would   I  have  ye 
do  ?     Why  first  of  all 

Don't  flutter  and  hurry  about  all  open- 
mouthed, 

In  that  undignified  way.     With  us,  for 
instance, 

At  home,  we  should  cry  out  "  What  crea- 
ture's that  ?  " 

And   Teleas  would  be   the   first  to  an- 
swer. 


37 


"  A  mere  poor  creature,  a  weak  restless 

animal, 
A  silly  bird,  that's  neither  here  nor  there." 
Hoo.  Yes,  Teleas  might  say  so.      It 
would  be  like  him. 
But  tell  me,  what  would  you  have  us  do  .? 
Peis.   \e?nphatically'\.  Concentrate  ! 

Bring  all  your  birds  together.     Build  a 
city. 
Hoo.   The    birds !       How    could    we 

build  a  city  ?      Where  ? 
Peis.  Nonsense.   You  can't  be  serious. 
What  a  question  ! 
Look  down. 
Hoo.         I  do. 
Peis.  Look  up  now. 

Hoo.  So  I  do. 

Peis.  Now  turn  your  neck  round. 
Hoo.  I  should  sprain  it  though. 

Peis.  Come,  what  d'ye  see  ? 
Hoo.  The  clouds  and  sky  ;  that's  all. 
Peis.  Well,  that  we  call  the  pole  and 
the  atmosphere ; 


38 


And  would  it  not  serve  you  birds  for  a 
metropole  ? 
Hoo.   Pole  ?     Is  it  called  a  pole  ? 
Peis,  Yes,  that's  the  name. 

Philosophers  of  late  call  it  the  pole  ; 

Because  it  wheels  and  rolls  itself  about, 

As  it  were,  in  a  kind  of  a  roly-poly  way. 

Well,   there   then,   you   may    build   and 
fortify. 

And     call     it    your    Metropolis  —  your 
Acropolis. 

From  that  position  you'll  command  man- 
kind, 

And  keep  them  in  utter,  thoro'  subjuga- 
tion : 

Just    as    you    do   the    grasshoppers    and 
locusts. 

And  if  the  gods  offend  you,  you'll  block- 
ade 'em. 

And  starve  'em  to  a  surrender. 

Hoo.  In  what  way  ? 

Peis.   Why  thus.    Your  atmosphere  is 
placed,  you  see, 


r^?C^ 


y 


:^^ 


F 


n^wmm 


39 


In  a  middle  point,  just  betwixt  earth  and 
heaven. 
A  case  of  the  same  kind  occurs  with 
us. 

Our  people  in  Athens,  if  they  send  to 
Delphi 

With  deputations,  offerings,  or  what  not, 

Are    forced    to  obtain  a  pass   from   the 
Boeotians  : 

Thus  when  mankind  on  earth  are  sacri- 
ficing. 

If  you  should  find  the  gods  grown  muti- 
nous 

And  insubordinate,  you  could  intercept 

All  their  supplies  of  sacrificial  smoke. 
Hoo.   By  the  earth  and  all  its  springs  ! 
springes  and  nooses  ! 

Odds,   nets    and    snares !     This    is    the 
cleverest  notion  : 

And  I  could  find  it  in  my  heart  to  ven- 
ture, 

If  the  other  birds  agree  to  the  proposal. 
Peis.   But  who  must  state  it  to  them  ? 


40 


Hoo.  You  yourself, 

They'll  understand  ye,  I  found  them  mere 

barbarians, 
But  living  here  a  length  of  time  amongst 

them, 
I    have    taught    them    to   converse    and 
speak  correctly. 
Peis.   Hovi^  will  you  summon  them  ? 
Hoo.  That's  easy  enough  ; 

I'll  just  step  into  the  thicket  here  hard  by, 
And   call    my  nightingale.      She'll    sum- 
mon them. 
And  when  they  hear  her  voice,  I  prom- 
ise you 
You'll  see  them  all  come  running  here 
pell-mell. 
Peis.   My  dearest,  best  of  birds  !  don't 
lose  a  moment, 
I  beg,  but  go  directly  into  the  thicket ; 
Nay,  don't  stand  here,  go  call  your  night- 
ingale. 

[Exit  Hoopoe. 
—  From  "  The  Birds." 


41 


THE    CALL    TO    THE    NIGHT- 
INGALE 

l_Song  from  behind  the  scene^  supposed  to 
be  sung  by  the  Hoopoe.] 

Awake  !  awake  ! 
Sleep  no  more,  my  gentle  mate  ! 
With  your  tiny  tawny  bill, 
Wake  the  tuneful  echo  shrill, 

On  vale  or  hill ; 
Or  in  her  airy,  rocky  seat, 
Let  her  listen  and  repeat 

The  tender  ditty  that  you  tell, 
The  sad  lament. 
The  dire  event, 
To  luckless  Itys  that  befell. 
Thence  the  strain 
Shall  rise  again,     * 
And  soar  amain, 
Up  to  the  lofty  palace  gate ; 
Where  mighty  Apollo  sits  in  state; 


42 


mi 


m^^ 


M 


Zz^ 


In  Jove's  abode,  with  his  ivory  lyre, 
Hymning  aloud  to  the  heavenly  choir. 
While  all  the  gods  shall  join  with  thee 
In  a  celestial  symphony. 

[y/  so/o  on  the  flute ^  supposed  to  be  the 
nightingale's  call.'^ 

Peis.   O  Jupiter !    the    dear,  delicious 
bird  ! 
With  what  a  lovely  tone  she  swells  and 

falls. 
Sweetening  the  wilderness  with  delicate 
air. 
Eu.   Hist  ! 
Peis.       What  ? 

Eu.  Be  quiet,  can't  ye  ? 

Peis.  What's  the  matter  ? 

Eu.  The  Hoopoe  is  just  preparing  for 

a  song. 
Hoo.     Hoop  !  hoop  ! 

Come  in  a  troop. 
Come  at  a  call. 
One  and  all, 


i^   I, 


-  m 


43 


^rimi 


Birds  of  a  feather, 
All  together. 
Birds  of  a  humble,  gentle  bill, 
Smooth  and  shrill. 
Dieted  on  seeds  and  grain. 
Rioting  on  the  furrowed  plain. 
Pecking,  hopping. 
Picking,  popping, 
Among  the  barley  newly  sown. 
Birds  of  bolder,  louder  tone, 
Lodging  in  the  shrubs  and  bushes, 
Mavises  and  thrushes. 
On  the  summer  berries  brousing, 
On  the  garden  fruits  carousing. 
All  the  grubs  and  vermin  smousing. 
You  that  in  a  humbler  station. 
With  an  active  occupation, 
Haunt  the  lowly  watery  mead. 
Warring  against  the  native  breed. 

The  gnats  and  flies,  your  enemies  \ 
In  the  level  marshy  plain 
Of  Marathon,  pursued  and  slain. 


44 


!.-■» 


'K 


r^g^ 


•^^ 


You  that  in  a  squadron  driving 
From  the  seas  are  seen  arriving, 

With  the  cormorants  and  mews 
Haste  to  land  and  hear  the  news  ! 

All  the  feathered  airy  nation, 
Birds  of  every  size  and  station, 
Are  convened  in  convocation. 

For  an  envoy,  queer  and  shrewd, 

Means  to  address  the  multitude. 
And  submit  to  their  decision 
A  surprising  proposition. 
For  the  welfare  of  the  State. 

Come  in  a  flurry, 

With  a  hurry-scurry, 
Hurry  to  the  meeting  and  attend  to  the 

debate. 

—  From  ''The  Birds." 


'Ht4S        Jt,^ 


'>0» 


ri*4 


f 


x^ 


45 


THE  KINGDOM  OF  THE  BIRDS 

Peis.  I  move,  that  the  birds  shall  in 

common  repair 
To  a  centrical  point,  and  encamp  in  the 

air ; 
And  intrench  and  enclose  it,  and  fortify 

there : 
And    build    up   a  rampart,   impregnably 

strong, 
Enormous  in  thickness,  enormously  long  ; 
Bigger  than  Babylon  ;  solid  and  tall. 
With  bricks  and  bitumen,  a  wonderful 

wall. 
Eu.   Bricks  and  bitumen  !   I'm  longing 

to  see 
What  a  daub  of  a  building  the  city  will 

be! 
Peis.  As  soon  as  the  fabric  is  brought 

to  an  end, 
A    herald    or   envoy   to   Jove   we    shall 

send, 


46 


.^^:*^ 


To  require  his  immediate  prompt  abdica- 
tion ; 

And  if  he  refuses,  or  shows  hesitation, 

Or  evades  the  demand ;  we  shall  further 
proceed, 

With    leo-itimate    warfare    avowed     and 

o 

decreed  : 
With   a   warning   and    notices,  formally 

given. 
To    Jove,    and    all    others    residing    in 

heaven, 
Forbidding  them  ever  to  venture  again 
To  trespass  on  our  atmospheric  domain, 
With  scandalous  journeys,  to  visit  a  list 
Of  Alcmenas  and  Semeles  ;  if  they  per- 
sist, 
We  warn  them,  that  means  will  be  taken 

moreover 
To  stop  their  gallanting  and  acting  the 

lover. 
Another  ambassador  also  will  go 
Despatched    upon   earth,  to   the    people 

below, 


47 


VM* 


To  notify  briefly  the  fact  of  accession  ; 

And  enforcing  our  claims   upon  taking 
possession  : 

With  orders  in  future,  that  every  suitor, 

Who  applies  to  the  gods  with  an  offer- 
ing made, 

Shall  begin,  with  a  previous  oflFering  paid 

To  a  suitable  bird  ;  of  a  kind  and  degree 

That  accords  with  the  god,  whosoever 
he  be. 

In  Venus's  fane,  if  a  victim  is  slain. 

First    let    a    sparrow    be    feasted    with 
grain. 

When    gifts   and  oblations   to   Neptune 
are  made. 

To  the  drake  let  a  tribute  of  barley  be 
paid. 

Let  the  cormorant's  appetite  first  be  ap- 
peased. 

And  let  Hercules  then  have  an  ox  for  his 
feast. 

If  you   offer  to  Jove,  as  the  sovereign 
above, 


48 


A    ram    for    his   own ;    let   the   golden- 
crown, 
As  a  sovereign  bird,  be  duly  preferred, 
Feasted  and   honoured,  in   right   of  his 

reign  ; 
"With   a   jolly    fat    pismire    offered    and 

slain. 
Eu.  A    pismire,   how  droll !      I   shall 

laugh  till  I  burst ! 
Let   Jupiter  thunder,  and   threaten    his 

worst. 
Hoo.      But      mankind,     will     they, 

think  ye,  respect  and  adore. 
If  they   see   us   all    flying   the   same   as 

before  ? 
They  will  reckon  us  merely  as  magpies 

and  crows. 
Peis.  Poh  !  nonsense,  I  tell  ye  —  no 

blockhead  but  knows 
That  Mercury  flies  ;  there  is  Iris  too ; 
Homer  informs  us  how  she  flew  : 
"  Smooth  as   a   dove,   she   went   sailing 

along." 


49 


And  pinions  of  gold,  both  in  picture  and 
song, 

To  Cupid  and  Victory  fairly  belong. 
Hoc.   But  Jove's  thunder  has  wings; 
if  he  send  but  a  volley, 

Mankind    for   a   time   may   abandon    us 
wholly. 
Peis.  What    then  ?    we   shall   raise   a 
granivorous  troop. 

To  sweep  their  whole  crops  with  a  raven- 
ous swoop  : 

If    Ceres     is     able,    perhaps    she     may 
deign, 

To  assist   their  distress,  with  a  largess 
of  grain.  .  .   . 
Eu.  No !   no !    she'll   be    making   ex- 
cuses, I  warrant. 
Peis.  Then  the  crows  will  be  sent  on 
a  different  errand. 

To  pounce  all  at  once,  with  a  sudden 
surprise, 

On  their  oxen  and  sheep,  to  peck  out 
their  eyes, 


50 


And  leave  them  stone  blind  for  Apollo 

to  cure : 
He'll  try  it ;  he'll  work  for  his  salary  sure  ! 
Eu.   Let  the   cattle   alone  j   I've  two 

beeves  of  my  own  : 
Let  me  part  with  them  first;  and  then 

do  your  worst. 
Peis.      But,  if  men  shall  acknowledge 

your  merit  and  worth, 
As   equal   to    Saturn,   to    Neptune,   and 

Earth, 
And  to  everything  else ;  we  shall  freely 

bestow 
All  manner  of  blessings. 

Hoo.  Explain  them  and  show. 

Peis.  For  instance  :   if  locusts  arrive 

to  consume 
All  their  hopes  of  a  crop,  when  the  vines 

are  in  bloom 
A  squadron  of  owls  may  demolish  them 

all; 
The    midges    moreover,    which    canker 

and  gall 


51 


The  figs  and  the  fruit,  if  the  thrush  is 

employed, 
By  a  single  battalion  will  soon  be  des- 
troyed. 
Hoo,    But  wealth  is  their  object;  and 

how  can  we  grant  it  ? 
Peis.   We  can  point  them  out  mines  ; 
and  our  help  will  be  wanted 
To  inspect,   and   direct   navigation  and 

trade ; 
Their  voyages  all  will  be  easily  made. 
With  a  saving  of  time,  and  a  saving  of 

cost ; 
And  a  seaman  in  future  will  never  be  lost. 
Hoo.   How  so  ? 

Peis.  We   shall   warn  them ;   "  Now 
hasten  to  sail, 
Now  keep  within  harbour ;  your  voyage 
will  fail." 
Eu.   How  readily  then  will  a  fortune 
be  made  ! 
I'll   purchase   a   vessel   and   venture   on 
trade. 


'tt^i 


52 


St; 


Peis.  And  old  treasure  concealed  will 
again  be  revealed  ; 
The  birds  as  they  know  it,  will  readily 

show  it. 
'Tis  a  saying  of  old,  "  My  silver  and  gold 
Are  so  safely  secreted,  and  closely   in- 
terred, 
No  creature   can   know  it,  excepting  a 
bird." 
Eu.  I'll  part  with  my  vessel,  I'll  not 
go  aboard  ; 
I'll    purchase   a    mattock  and   dig   up  a 
hoard. 
Hoo.  We're  clear  as  to  wealth  j  but 
the  blessing  of  health. 
Is  the  gift  of  the  gods. 

Peis.   It  will  make  so  such  odds  : 
If    they're    going    on    well,    they'll    be 

healthy  still. 
And  none  are  in  health,  that  are  going 
on  ill. 
Hoo.   But  then  for  longevity ;  that  is 
the  gift 


V.^. 


'.'^"'iiii'i?^  -i' 


53 


^H 


^ 


.*-»■_ 


.%. 


\^ 


ii>  %\ 


^ 


Of  the  gods. 

Peis.  But  the  birds  can  afFord  them 
a  lift, 
And  allow  them  a  century,  less  or  more. 
Hoo,  How  so  ? 

Peis.  From  their  own  individual  store  : 
They  may  reckon  it  fair,  to  allot  them 

a  share ; 
For  old   proverbs  affirm,  that   the   final 

term 
Of  a  raven's  life  exceeds  the  space 
Of  five  generations  of  human  race. 
Hoo.  What  need  have  we  then   for 
Jove  as  a  king  ? 
Surely  the  birds  are  a  better  thing  ! 

Peis.  Surely  !  surely  !    First  and  most, 
We  shall  economize  the  cost 
Of  marble  domes  and  gilded  gates. 
The  birds  will  live  at  cheaper  rates, 
Lodging,  without  shame  or  scorn. 
In  a  maple  or  a  thorn  ; 
The  most  exalted  and  divine 
Will  have  an  olive  for  his  shrine. 


fSrm/ 


54 


v>, 


We  need  not  run  to  foreign  lands, 
Or  Amnion's  temple  in  the  sands ; 
But  perform  our  easy  vows, 
Among     the    neighbouring    shrubs    and 

boughs ; 
Paying  our  oblations  fairly, 
With  a  pennyworth  of  barley. 

Chor.  O  best  of  all  envoys,  suspected 
before. 
Now  known  and  approved,  and  respected 

the  more  ; 
To  you  we  resign  the  political  lead. 
Our  worthy  director  in  council  and  deed. 

Elated  with  your  bold  design 

I  swear  and  vow  : 

If  resolutely  you  combine 

Your  views  and  interest  with  mine ; 

In  steadfast  councils  as  a  trusty  friend. 

Without    deceit,    or    guile    or    fraudful 

end  : 
They  that  rule  in  haughty  state. 
The  gods  ere  long  shall  abdicate 


55 


Their  high  command  ; 
And   yield   the   sceptre   to    my   rightful 
hand. 

Then  reckon  on  us  for  a  number  and 

force ;  • 
As  on  you  we  rely  for  a  ready  resource. 
In  council  and  policy,  trusting  to  you, 
To    direct    the    design    we    resolve    to 
pursue. 
Hoc.  That's  well,  but  we've  no  time, 
by  Jove,  to  loiter, 
And  dawdle  and  postpone  like  Nicias. 
We  should  be  doing  something.      First, 

however, 
I  must  invite  you  to  my  roosting  place, 
This  nest  of  mine,  with  its  poor  twigs 

and  leaves.  '^ 

And  tell  me  what  your  names  are  ? 

Peis.  Certainly  j 

My  name  is  Peisthetairus. 

Hog.  And  your  friend  ? 

Eu.  Euelpides  from  Thria. 


56 


Hoo.  Well,  you're  welcome  — 

Both  of  ye. 

Peis.        We're  obliged. 

Hoo.  Walk  in  together. 

Peis.   Go  first  then,  if  you  please. 

Hoo.  No,  pray  move  forward. 

Peis.   But    bless    me  —  stop,    pray  — 
just  for  a  single  moment  — 
Let's    see  —  do    tell    me  —  explain  — 

how  shall  we  manage 
To  live  with  you  —  with  a  person  wear- 


ing wmgs 


? 


Being  both  of  us  unfledged  ? 

Hoo.  Perfectly  well ! 

Peis.  Yes,  but  I   must  observe,  that 
tE sop's  fables 
Report   a   case   in    point ;    the   fox   and 

eagle : 
The  fox  repented  of  his  fellowship  ; 
And  with  good  cause ;  you  recollect  the 
story. 
Hoo.   Oh !    don't   be   alarmed !    we'll 
give  you  a  certain  root 


57 


</»y 


\ 


rr-^i^^ 


That  immediately  promotes  the  growth 
of  wings. 
Peis.   Come,  let's   go  in  then;  Xan- 
thias,  do  you  mind. 
And  Manodorus  follow  with  the  bundles. 
Chor.   HoUoh! 
Hoo.  What's  the  matter  ? 

Chor.  Go  in  with  your  party. 

And    give    them    a   jolly    collation    and 

hearty. 
But  the  bird,  to  the  Muses  and  Graces 

so  dear, 
The   lovely   sweet   nightingale,   bid    her 

appear. 
And  leave  her  amongst  us,  to  sport  with 
us  here. 
Peis.   O    yes,    by    Jove,    indeed    you 
must  indulge  them ; 
Do,  do  me  the  favour,  call  her  from  the 

thicket ! 
For  heaven's  sake  —  let  me  entreat  you 

—  bring  her  here. 
And  let  us  have  a  sight  of  her  ourselves. 


-M. 


58 


59 


THE   ADVANTAGE   OF   WINGS 

Nothing  can   be  more   delightful  than 

the  having  wings  to  wear! 
A  spectator  sitting  here,  accommodated 

with  a  pair, 
Might  for  instance  (if  he  found  a  tragic 

chorus  dull  and  heavy) 
Take  his  flight,  and  dine  at  home ;  and 

if  he  did  not  choose  to  leave  ye, 
Might   return  in   better   humour,  when 

the  weary  drawl  was  ended. 
Introduce  then  wings   in    use  —  believe 


me,  matters  will  be  mended 


Dii- 


Trust    me  wings  are   all   in   all ! 
trephes  has  mounted  quicker 

Than  the   rest  of  our  aspirants,  soaring 
on  his  wings  of  wicker  : 

Basket  work,  and  crates,  and  hampers, 
first  enabled  him  to  fly  ; 

First  a  captain,  then  promoted  to  com- 
mand the  cavalry  j 


60 


^ 


1^ 


With  his  fortunes  daily  rising,  office  and 

preferment  new, 
An  illustrious,  enterprising,  airy,  gallant 
cockatoo. 
Peis,  Well,  there  it  is  !     Such  a  com- 
ical set  out, 
By  Jove,  I  never  saw  ! 

Eu.  Why,  what's  the  matter  ? 

What  are  you  laughing  at  ? 

Peis.  At  your  pen  feathers  : 

I'll  tell  ye  exactly  now,  the  thing  you're 

like ; 
You're  just  the  perfect  image  of  a  goose, 
Drawn  with  a  pen  in  a  writing  master's 
flourish. 
Eu.  And  you're  like  a  plucked  black- 
bird to  a  tittle. 
Peis.   Well    then,    according    to    the 
line  in  ^schylus, 
"  It's    our  own    fault,  the  feathers    are 
our  own." 
Eu.   Come,  what's  to  be  done  ? 
Hoo.    First,  we  must  choose  a  name. 


6i 


M^. 


Some  grand  sonorous  name,  for  our  new 

city  : 
Then  we  must  sacrifice. 

Eu.  I  think  so  too. 

Peis.    Let's    see  —  let's   think    of  a 
name  —  what  shall  it  be  ? 
What    say    ye,    to    the     Lacedaemonian 

name  ? 
Sparta  sounds  well  —  suppose  we  call  it 
Sparta. 
Eu.      Sparta !        What       Sparto  ?  — 
Rushes  !  —  no,  not  I, 
I'd  not  put  up  with  Sparto  for  a  mat- 
tress. 
Much  less  for  a  city  —  we're  not  come 
to  that. 
Peis.   Come  then,  what  name  shall  it 

be? 
Eu.  Something  appropriate. 
Something  that  sounds  majestic,  striking 

and  grand. 
Alluding   to   the    clouds  and  the   upper 
regions. 


62 


v% 


Peis.   What  think    ye  of  clouds    and 
cuckoos  ?      Cuckoo-cloudlands 
Or  Nephelococcugia  ? 

Hoo.  That  will  do  ; 

A  truly  noble  and  sonorous  name. 

Eu.   I   wonder,   if   that    Nephelococ- 
cugia, 
Is  the  same  place  I've  heard  of:  people 

tell  me. 
That  all  Theagenes's  rich  possessions 
Lie  there  ;  and  iEschines's  whole  estate. 
Peis.  Yes  !  and  a  better  country  it  is 
by  far. 
Than  all  that  land  in  Thrace,  the  fabu- 
lous plain 
Of    Phlegra ;    where    those    earthborn 

landed  giants 
Were   bullied  and  out-vapoured  by  the 
gods. 
Eu.   It    will    be    a    genteelish,    smart 
concern,  I  reckon. 
This  city  of  ours  .   .   .  Which  of  the 
deities 


mm 


63 


'// 


L»  ^l 


!i^' 


7/ >  III  I, 


Shall  we  have  for  a  patron  ?     We  must 
weave  our  mantle, 

Our  sacred   mantle  of  course  .   .   .  the 
yearly  mantle 

To  one  or  other  of  'em. 

Peis.  Well,  Minerva  ? 

Why  should  not  we  have  Minerva  ?  she's 
establisht, 

Let    her    continue ;     she'll    do    mighty 
well. 
Eu.  No  —  there  I  object ;   for  a  well- 
ordered  city, 

The  example   would  be  scandalous  j  to 
see 

The   goddess,    a   female  born,  in  com- 
plete armour 

From  head  to  foot ;  and  Cleisthenes  with 
a  distaff. 
Peis.   What   warden   will   ye   appoint 
for  the  Eagle  tower. 

Your  citadel,  the  fort  upon  the  rock  ? 
Hoo.  That   charge   will   rest    with    a 
chief  of  our  own  choice, 


64 


Of  Persian  race,  a  chicken  of  the  game, 
An  eminent  warrior. 

Eu.  Oh  my  chicky-biddy — 

My  little  master.     I  should  like  to  see 

him. 
Strutting    about     and    roosting    on    the 

rock. 
Peis.  Come,  you  now  !  please  to  step 

to  the  atmosphere ; 
And  give  a  look  to  the  work,  and  help 

the  workmen  ; 
And  between  whiles  fetch  brick  and  tiles, 

and  such  like ; 
Draw  water,  stamp  the   mortar  —  do  it 

barefoot ; 
Climb    up    the    ladders ;    tumble    down 

again  : 
Keep  constant  watch  and  ward  ;  conceal 

your  watch  lights ; 
Then  go  the  rounds,  and  give  the  coun- 
tersign. 
Till  you  fall  fast  asleep.     Send  heralds 

ofF, 


65 


A    brace    of   them  —  one   to    the    gods 

above ; 
And     another,    down     below    there,    to 

mankind. 
Bid    them,   when    they    return,    inquire 

for  me. 
Eu.   For  me  !   for  me  !     You  may  be 

hanged  for  me. 
Peis.   Come,  friend,  go    where   I  bid 

you  ;   never   mind  ; 
The  business  can't  go  on  without  you, 

anyhow. 
It's  just  a  sacrifice  to  these  new  deities, 
That   I   must  wait  for;    and  the  priest 

that's  coming. 
HoUoh,  you  boy  there  !   bring  the  basin 

and  ewer ! 

—  From  "  The  Birds." 


66 


THE    POET   AND    THE 
STATESMAN 

Enter  a  Poet,  very  ragged  and  shabby,  with  a 
very  mellifluous  submissive  mendicatory  de- 
meanour. Peisthetairus,  the  essential  man 
of  business  and  activity,  entertaining  a  su- 
preme contempt  for  his  profession  and  per- 
son, is  at  no  great  pains  to  conceal  it ;  but 
recollecting  at  the  same  time,  that  it  is  advis- 
able to  secure  the  suffrages  of  the  literary 
world,  and  that  the  character  of  a  patron  is 
creditable  to  a  great  man,  he  patronizes  him 
accordingly,  not  at  his  own  expense,  but  by 
bestowing  upon  him  certain  articles  of  apparel 
put  in  requisition  for  that  purpose.  This  first 
act  of  confiscation  is  directed  against  the 
property  of  the  Church ;  the  Scholiast  in- 
forms us,  that  he  begins  by  stripping  the 
Priest. 

Poet.  "  For  the  festive,  happy  day, 
Muse  prepare  an  early  lay, 
To  Nephelococcugia." 
Peis.    What's    here    to    do  ?       What 
are    you .''      Where    do   you    come 
from  ? 


67 


'a^^ 


\u 


mMm-^^ 


li 


Poet.  An     humble     menial    of    the 
Muses'    train, 
As  Homer  expresses  it. 

Peis.  a  menial,  are  you  ? 

With  your  long  hair  ?     A  menial  ? 

Poet.  'Tis  not  that, 

No !     but     professors    of    the    poetical 

art. 
Are  simply  styled,  the  "  Menials  of  the 

Muses," 
As  Homer  expresses  it. 

Peis.         Ay,  the  Muse  has  given  you 
A   ragged   livery.     Well,   but    friend,   I 

say  — 
Friend  !  —  Poet !  —  What     the     plague 
has  brought  you  here  ? 
Poet.   I've   made  an  ode  upon   your 
new  built  city. 
And    a    charming    composition     for    a 

chorus. 
And  another,  in  Simonides's  manner. 
Peis.  When  were  they  made  ?    What 
time  ?      How  long  ago  ? 


68 


Poet.  From  early  date,  I  celebrate  in 


song, 


The  noble  Nephelococcugian  State. 
Peis.  That's   strange,  when  I'm  just 

sacrificing  here. 
For  the  first  time,  to  give  the  town  a  name. 
Poet.  Intimations,  swift  as  air, 
To  the  Muses'  ear,  are  carried. 
Swifter  than  the  speed  and  force. 
Of  the  fiery-footed  horse. 

Hence,  the  tidings  never  tarried  ; 

Father,  patron,  mighty  lord. 

Founder  of  the  rising  State, 
What  thy  bounty  can  afford, 

Be  it  little,  be  it  great. 
With  a  quick  resolve,  incline 
To  bestow  on  me  and  mine. 
Peis.  This  fellow  will  breed  a  bustle, 

and  make  mischief. 
If  we  don't  give  him  a  trifle,  and  get  rid 

of  him. 
You    there,  you've   a  spare   waistcoat ; 

pull  it  off! 


69 


.-^^5 


''.•  <S»^." 


And  give  it  this  same  clever,  ingenious 

poet  — 
There,  take  the  vi'aistcoat,  friend  !      Ye 
seem  to  want  it ! 
Poet.   Freely,  with  a  thankful  heart. 
What  a  bounteous  hand  bestows, 
Is  received  in  friendly  part ; 

But  amid  the  Thracian  snows, 
Or  the  chilly  Scythian  plain, 

He  the  wanderer,  cold  and  lonely, 
With  an  under-waistcoat  only, 
Must  a  further  wish  retain ; 

Which  the  Muse  averse  to  mention. 
To  your  gentle  comprehension, 
Trusts  her  enigmatic  strain. 
Peis.   I  comprehend  it  enough  j    you 
want  a  jerkin  ; 
Here,   give   him    yours ;    one   ought   to 

encourage  genius. 
There,  take  it,  and  good-by  to  ye  ! 

Poet.  Well,  I'm  going  ; 

And  as  soon  as  I  get  to  the  town,  I'll  set 
to  work  ; 


^4K-^^W^ 


:«-».»:''.'.^t: 


70 


And  finish   something,  in   this   kind  of 
way. 

"  Seated  on  your  golden  throne, 
Muse,  prepare  a  solemn  ditty, 

To  the  mighty. 

To  the  flighty. 
To  the  cloudy,  quivering,  shivering. 
To  the  lofty-seated  city."        [^Exit. 

Peis.  Well,   I    should    have   thought, 

that  jerkin   might  have  cured   him 

Of   his    "  quiverings    and    shiverings." 

How  the   plague  ! 
Did  the   fellow  find  us  out  ?     I  should 
not  have  thought  it. 
Come,  once  again,  go  round  with  the 
basin  and  ewer. 
Peace  !     Silence  !     Silence  ! 

.  —  From  "  The  Birds." 


^m: 


71 


r-^ 


THE    BUILDING    OF   THE 
BIRDS'    CITY 

Enter  a  Messenger^  quite   out  of  breath ; 
and  speaking  in  short  snatches. 

Messenger.  Where  is  he  ?    Where  ? 
Where   is   he  ?   Where  ?  Where  is 
he?  — 
The  president  Peisthetairus  ? 

Peis.    [foo//>'] .  Here  am  I. 

Mess.    \in  a  gasp  of  breath'^ .      Your 

fortification's  finished. 
Peis.  Well !  that's  well. 

Mess.  A    most   amazing,  astonishing 
work  it  is  ! 
So,  that  Theagenes  and  Proxenides 
Might  flourish  and  gasconade  and  prance 

away. 
Quite  at  their  ease,  both  of  them  four- 
in-hand, 
Driving  abreast  upon  the  breadth  of  the 
wall, 


72 


Each  in  his  own  new  chariot. 

Peis.  You  surprise  me. 

Mess.  And  the  height  (for  I  made  the 
measurement  myself) 
Is  exactly  a  hundred  fathoms. 

Peis.  Heaven  and  earth  ! 

How  could   it  be  ?    such  a  mass  !   who 
could  have  built  it  ? 
Mess.  The  Birds ;    no  creature  else, 
no  foreigners, 
Egyptian   bricklayers,  workmen   or  ma- 
sons, 
But,    they    themselves,   alone,   by   their 

own  efforts, 
(Even   to   my   surprise,   as   an    eye-wit- 
ness) — 
The  Birds,  I  say,  completed  everything  : 
There  came  a  body  of  thirty  thousand 
cranes 
(I    won't    be    positive,   there    might    be 

more) 
With  stones  from  Africa,  in  their  craws 
and  gizzards. 


^ 


71 


1^ 


Which    the    stone-curlews    and     stone- 
chatterers 
Worked    into   shape   and   finisht.     The 

sand-martens 
And  mud-larks,  too,  were  busy  in  their 

department, 
Mixing    the    mortar,    while    the    water 

birds. 
As  fast  as  it  was  wanted,  brought  the 

water 
To  temper,  and  work  it. 

Peis.    [in  a  fidget].    But,  who  served 
the  masons  ? 
Who  did  you  get  to  carry  it  ? 

Mess.  To  carry  it  ? 

Of  course,  the  carrion  crows  and  carry- 
ing pigeons. 
Peis.   [in  a  fuss^  which  he  endeavours  to 
conceal]. 
Yes !    yes  !    But  after  all,  to  load  your 

hods, 
How  did  you  manage  that  ? 

Mess.  Oh  capitally, 

« 


■^M 


:ifAils 


74 


^ 


'^ 


:^ 


I  promise  you.     There  were  the  geese, 
all  barefoot 

Trampling  the  mortar,  and,  when  all  was 
ready, 

They  handed  it  into  the  hods,  so  cleverly. 

With  their  flat  feet ! 

Peis.   [y/  had  joke^  as  a  vent  for  irrita- 
tion]. 

They  footed  it,  you  mean  — 

Come ;    it  was  handily  done   though,  I 
confess. 
Mess.   Indeed,  I  assure  you,  it  was  a 
sight  to  see  them  ; 

And  trains  of  ducks,  there  were,  clamber- 
ing the  ladders. 

With  their  duck   legs,  like   bricklayer's 
'prentices, 

All  dapper  and  handy,  with  their  little 
trowels. 
Peis.  In  fact,  then,  it's  no  use  engag- 
ing foreigners. 

Mere   folly  and  waste,  we've  all  within 
ourselves. 


It 


?///-'  '>h 


^>; 


% 


^ 


^^ 


v4^<* 


75 


& 


Ah,  well  now,  come  !     But  about  the 
woodwork  ?     Heh  ! 

Who  were  the  carpenters  ?     Answer  me 
that ! 
Mess.   The  woodpeckers,  of  course : 
and  there  they  were. 

Labouring  upon  the  gates,  driving   and 
banging. 

With  their  hard  hatchet  beaks,  and  such 
a  din. 

Such  a  clatter,  as  they  made,  hammering 
and  hacking. 

In  a  perpetual  peal,  pelting  away 

Like  shipwrights,  hard  at  work    in   the 
arsenal. 
And  now  their  work  is  finished,  gates 
and  all. 

Staples  and  bolts,  and  bars  and  every- 
thing ; 

The  sentries  at  their  posts ;  patrols  ap- 
pointed ; 

The    watchmen    in    the    barbican ;    the 
beacons 


76 


77 


IRIS   AND  THE    BIRDS 

The  Watchman  enters^  with  a  shout  of 
alarm. 

Peis.  Well,  what's  the  matter  ? 
Watchman.    A   most  dreadful   busi- 
ness : 
One  of  the  gods,  just  now  —  Jupiter's 

gods  — 
Has  bolted  thro'  the  gates,  and  driven  on 
Right  into  the  atmosphere,  in  spite  of  us, 
And  all  the  jackdaws,  that  were  mount- 
ing guard. 
Peis.  [animated  at  the  prospect  of  hav- 
ing something  to  manage'\. 
What    an    outrage !      what    an     insult ! 

Which   of   'em  ? 
Which  of  the  gods  ? 

W.  We  can't  pretend  to  say ; 

We  just   could   ascertain  that   he  wore 
wings. 


78 


We're  clear  upon  that  point. 

Peis.  But  a  light  party 

Ought  surely  to  have  been  sent  in  such 

a  case ; 
A  detachment  — 

W.  A  detachment  has  been  sent 

Already :    a   squadron    of   ten    thousand 

hawks, 
Besides    a    corps     of    twenty    thousand 

hobby   hawks, 
As  a  light  cavalry,  to  scour  the  country  : 
Vultures  and  falcons,  ospreys,  eagles,  all 
Have  sallied  forth  ;  the  sound  of  wings  is 

heard. 
Rushing  and  whizzing  round   on   every 

side. 
In  eager  search.     The  fugitive  divinity 
Is   not   far   off,  and    soon   must  be  dis- 
covered. 
Peis.   Did  nobody  think  of  slingers  ? 

Where  are  they  ? 
Where  are  the  slingers  got  to  ?     Give  me 

a  sling. 


MP 


79 


Arrows  and  slings,  I  say  !  —  Make  haste 
with  'em. 

Chor.   War  is  at  hand, 
On  air  and  land. 

Proclaimed  and  fixt. 
War  and  strife, 
Eager  and  rife. 

Are  kindled  atwixt 
This  State  of  ours. 
And  the  heavenly  powers. 

Look  with  care, 
To  the  circuit  of  air. 

Watch  lest  he. 

The  deity. 
Whatever  he  be. 

Should  unaware 
Escape  and  flee. 

But  hark !    the  rushing  sound  of  hasty 

wings 
Approaches  us.     The  deity  is  at  hand. 


80 


Peis.   Holloh  you  !    Where  are  ye  fly- 
ing ?  Where  are  ye  going  ? 
Hold  !    Halt !    Stop  there,  I  tell  ye  !  — 

Stop  this  instant ! 
What   are   ye  ?     Where   do    you    come 
from  ?     Speak,  explain. 
Iris.  Me  ?    From  the  gods,  to  be  sure  ! 

the  Olympian  gods. 
Peis.   [pointing  to  the  jaunting  append- 
ages of  her  dres{\. 
What   are   ye  ?     With    all    your    flying 

trumpery  ! 
A  helmet  ?  or  a  galley  ?     What's  your 
name  ? 
Iris.  Iris,  the  messenger  of  the  gods. 
Peis.  A  messenger ! 

Oh  !  you're  a  naval  messenger,  I  reckon. 
The    Salaminian    galley,    or   the    Para- 

lian  ? 
You're  in  full  sail,  I  see. 

Iris.  What's  here  to  do  ? 

Peis.  Are    there    no    birds    in     wait- 
ing ?     Nobody 


8i 


To  take  her  into  custody  ? 

Iris.  Me,  to  custody  ? 

Why,  what's  all  this  ? 

Peis.  You'll    find     to     your    cost,    I 

promise  ye. 
Iris.  Well,    this    seems   quite    unac- 
countable ! 
Peis.  Which  of  the  gates 

Did  ye  enter  at,  ye  jade  ?      How  came 
you  here  ? 
Iris.   Gates  !  —  I  know  nothing  about 

your  gates,  not  I. 
Peis.   Fine  innocent  ignorant  airs,  she 
gives  herself! 
You  applied  to  the  pelicans,  I  suppose  ? 

—  The  captain 
Of  the  cormorants    on   guard   admitted 
you  ? 
Iris.     Why,  what  the  plague  !  what's 

this ! 
Peis.    So  you  confess  ! 
You  come  without  permission  ! 

Iris.  Are  you  mad  ? 


82 


iVV>W 


i 


k 


'Ll 


Peis.   Did    neither  the  sitting   magis- 
trates nor  bird-masters 
Examine  and  pass  you  ? 

Iris.  Examine  me,  forsooth  ! 

Peis.   This  is  the  way  then  !  —  with- 
out thanks  or  leave 
You    ramble  and  fly,  committing    tres- 
passes 
In    an    atmosphere    belonging    to    your 
neighbours  ! 
Iris.  And  where  would  you  have  us 

fly  then  ?     Us,  the  gods  ! 
Peis.   I  neither  know  nor  care.      But, 
I  know  this, 
They    sha'n't    fly    here.     And    another 

thing,  I  know. 
I  know  —  that,  if  there  ever  was  an  in- 
stance 
Of  an  Iris  or  a  rainbow,  such  as  you. 
Detected  in  the   fact,  fairly  condemned. 
And  justly  put  to  death  —  it  would  be 
you. 
Iris.   But,  I'm  immortal. 


J'   I 


/    Ifll 


///// 


vWW 


m. 


'h^^4.A 


83 


^^m^. 


Peis.     \coolly  and  peremptorily^.     That 

would  make  no  difference : 
We  should  be   strangely  circumstanced 

indeed ; 
With    the    possession    of    a    sovereign 

power, 
And  you,  the  gods,  in  no  subordination. 
No  kind  of  order  !   fairly  mutinying. 
Infringing  and  disputing  our  commands. 
—  Now   then,  you'll  please  to   tell  me 

—  where  you're  going  ? 
Which  way  you're  steering  with  those 

wings  of  yours  ? 
Iris.    I  ?    .    .    .    I'm    commissioned 

from  my  father  Jove, 
To  summon  human  mortals  to  perform 
Their  rites  and  offerings  and  oblations, 

due 
To  the  powers  above. 

Peis.  And  who  do  you  mean  ?  what 


powers 


? 


Iris.  What  powers  ?    Ourselves,  the 
Olympian  deities  ! 


84 


Peis.  So  then  !  you're  deities,  the  rest 

of  ye  ? 
Iris.  Yes,  to  be  sure.     What  others 

should  there  be  ? 
Peis.  Remember  —  !   once  for  all  —  ! 
that  we,  the  Birds, 
Are  the  only  deities,  from  this  time  forth  ; 
And,  not  your  father  Jove.      By  Jove  ! 
not  he  ! 
Iris.  Oh  !  rash,  presumptuous  wretch  ! 
Incense  no  more 
The  wrath  of  the  angry  gods  !  lest  ruin 

drive 
Her  ploughshare  o'er  thy  mansion ;  and 

destruction, 
With  hasty  besom  sweep    thee   to    the 

dust ; 
Or  flaming  lightning  smite  thee  with  a 

flash. 
Left  in  an   instant  smouldering  and  ex- 
tinct. 
Peis.   Do   ye    hear   her?  —  Quite    in 
tragedy  !  —  quite  sublime  ! 


85 


Come,  let  me  try  for  a  bouncer  in  re- 
turn. 

Let's  see.     Let's  recollect.     "  Me  dost 
thou  deem. 

Like  a  base  Lydian  or  a  Phrygian  slave, 

With  hyperbolical  bombast  to  scare  ?  " 

I  tell  ye,  and  you   may  tell  him.     Jupi- 
ter— 

If  he   provokes  me,  and   pushes   things 
too  far  — 

Will  see  some  eagles  of  mine,  to  out- 
number his, 

With  firebrands  in  their  claws  about  his 
house. 
And,  I  shall  send  a  flight  of  my  Por- 
phyrions. 

A  hundred  covey  or  more,  armed  cap-a- 
pie 

To  assault  him  in  his  sublime  celestial 
towers : 

Perhaps,  he  may  remember  in  old  times, 

He  found  enough  to  do  with  one  Por- 
phyrion. 


86 


And    for    you,    Madam    Iris,  I    shall 
strip 
Your  rainbow-shanks,  if  you're  imperti- 
nent. 
Depend  upon  it,  and  I  myself,  in  person 
Will    ruin  you,   myself! —     Old   as    I 
am. 
Iris.   Curse   ye,  you  wretch,  and   all 

your  filthy  words. 
Peis.   Come,    scuttle    away  j    convey 
your  person  elsewhere  j 
Be  brisk,  and  leave  a  vacancy.     Brush 
ofF. 
Iris.  I  shall  inform  my  father.'       He 
shall  know 
Your  rudeness  and    impertinence.     He 
shall,  — 


*  Iris,  in  her  rage,  unwittingly  makes  use  of 
the  same  sort  of  phrase  with  which  a  young  girl 
at  Athens  would  repel,  or  affect  to  repel,  im- 
proper familiarities.  Peisthetairus,  taking  advan- 
tage of  this,  pretends  to  consider  her  indignation 
as  a  mere  coquettish  artifice  intended  to  inveigle 
and  allure  him. 


87 


He'll    settle    ye  and    keep  ye  in   order. 
You  shall  see. 
Peis.   Oh,  dear  !  is  it  come  to  that ! 
No,  you're  mistaken. 

Young  woman,  upon  that  point,  I'm  not 
your  man, 

I'm  an  old  fellow  grown  ;   I'm  thunder- 
proof, 

Proof  against  flames  and  darts  and   fe- 
male arts  : 

You'd    best    look    out     for    a    younger 
customer. 


Chor.  Notice  is  hereby  given. 
To  the  deities  of  heaven  ; 
Not  to  trespass  here. 
Upon  our  atmosphere ; 
Take  notice ;  from  the  present  day. 
No  smoke  or  incense  is  allowed 
To  pass  this  way. 

—  From  "  The  Birds." 


88 


APOSTROPHE   TO    PEISTHE- 
TAIRUS 

O  MOST  noble  founder 
Of  this  supereminent  celestial  city, 
You    can't    conceive    the    clamour    of 

applause, 
The  enthusiastic  popularity. 
That  attends  upon  your  name ;  the  im- 
pulse and  stir, 
That  moves  among  mankind,  to  colonize 
And    migrate   hither.      In    the   time  be- 


There  was  a  Spartan  mania,  and  people 

went 
Stalking  about  the  streets,  with  Spartan 

staves. 
With    their    long    hair,    unwashed    and 

slovenly. 
Like  so  many  Socrateses  :  but,  of  late. 
Birds  are  the  fashion  —  Birds  are  all  in 

all  — 


SP- 


89 


Their   modes  of  life   are   grown   to   be 
mere  copies 

Of  the   birds'   habits ;    rising   with    the 
lark, 

Scratching  and  scrabbling  suits  and  in- 
formations ; 

Picking  and  pecking  upon  points  of  law; 

Brooding    and    hatching    evidence.     In 
short, 

It  has  grown  to  such  a  pitch,  that  names 
of  birds 

Are  given  to  individuals  ;  Chaerephon 

Is  called  an  owl,  Theagenes,  a  goose, 

Philocles,  a  cock  sparrow,  Midias, 

A  dunghill  cock.     And  all  the  songs  in 
vogue. 

Have  something  about  birds ;  swallows 
or  doves ; 

Or  about  flying,  or  a  wish  for  wings. 
Such  is  the  state  of  things,  and  I  must 
warn  you, 

That  you  may  expect  to  see  some  thou- 
sands of  them 


Isk^. 


90 


91 


iSSi^, 


THE    MARVELS    OF    DISTANT 
REGIONS 

We  have  flown,  and  we  have  run, 
Viewing  marvels,  many  a  one ; 
In  every  land  beneath  the  sun. 

But,  the  strangest  sight  to  see. 
Was  a  huge  exotic  tree, 
Growing,  without  heart  or  pith. 
Weak  and  sappy,  like  a  withe  ; 
But,  with  leaves  and  boughs  withal, 
Comely,  flourishing  and  tall. 

This  the  learned  all  ascribe 
To  the  sycophantic  tribe  ; 
But  the  natives  there,  like  us. 
Call  it  a  Cleonymus. 
In  the  spring's- delightful  hours. 
It  blossoms  with  rhetoric  flowers ; 
I  saw  it  standing  in  the  field. 
With  leaves,  in  figure  like  a  shield  ; 
On  the  first  tempestuous  day, 
I  saw  it  cast  those  leaves  away. 


1^5^ 


92 


There  lies  a  region  out  of  sight, 
Far  within  the  realm  of  nisht. 
Far  from  torch  and  candle  light. 
There  in  feasts  of  meal  and  wine, 
Men  and  demigods  may  join, 
There  they  banquet,  and  they  dine, 
Whilst  the  light  of  day  prevails  ; 
At  sunset,  their  assurance  fails. 
If  any  mortal  then  presumes, 
Orestes,  sallying  from  the  tombs, 
Like  a  fierce  heroic  sprite. 
Assaults  and  strips  the  lonely  wight. 

Beyond  the  navigable  seas. 
Amongst  the  fierce  Antipodes, 
There  lies  a  lake,  obscure  and  holy, 
Lazy,  deep,  melancholy. 
Solitary,  secret,  hidden. 
Where  baths  and  washing  are  for- 
bidden. 
Socrates,  beside  the  brink. 
Summons  from  the  murky  sink 
Many  a  disembodied  ghost ; 


r/>^„ 


Ig^'-":-." 


9ff^-^ 


93 


94 


% 


v^ 


NEPTUNE     IN     NEPHELOCOC- 
CUGIA 

Neptune,  the  Triballian  Envoy, 
Hercules. 

Neptune.  There's  Nephelococcugia, 
that's  the  town, 

The  point  we're  bound  to,  with  our  em- 
bassy. 
[Turning  to  the  Triballian  Deity] 

But  you  !     What  a  figure  have  ye  made 
yourself! 

What  a  way  to  wear  a  mantle  !  slouch- 
ing off 

From  the  left  shoulder!  hitch  it  round,  I 
tell  ye. 

On  the  right  side.     For  shame  —  come 
—  so  ;   that's  better, 

These  folds,  too,  bundled  up.     There, 
throw  them  round 

Even   and   easy  —  so.      Why,  you're   a 
savage. 


95 


A    natural    born   savage.     Oh !    democ- 


What  will  it  bring  us  to  ?     When  such 
a  ruffian 

Is  voted  into  an  embassy  ! 

Triballian     [to    Neptune,    who    is 
pulling  his  dress  about]. 

Come,  hands  off! 

Hands  off! 

Nep.      Keep  quiet,  I  tell  ye,  and  hold 
your  tongue. 

For    a    very    beast :    in    all    my    life   in 
heaven, 

I    never    saw    such    another — Hercu- 
les, 

I  say,  what  shall  we  do  ?     What  should 
you  think  ? 
Hercules.   What  would  I  do  ?   What 
do  I  think  ?   I've  told  you 

Already   ...   I  think  to  throttle  him  — 
the  fellow. 

Whoever  he  is,  that's  keeping  us  block- 
aded. 


96 


'mmm^i 


■>|1&.| 


Nep.  Yes,  my   good  friend ;   but  we 
were  sent,  you  know. 
To  treat  for  a  peace.      Our  embassy  is 
for  peace. 
Her.  That  makes  no  difference ;  or 
if  it  does. 
It    makes   me  long  to  throttle  him  the 
more. 
Peis.    [very   busy,  affecting   not   to    see 
them\. 
Give  me  the  Silphium  spice.     Where's 

the  cheese-grater  ? 
Bring  cheese  here,  somebody  !       Mend 
the  charcoal  fire. 
Her.   Mortal,  we  greet  you  and  hail 


you 


!     Three  of  us  — 


Three  deities. 

Peis.    [without  looking   up].     But    I'm 
engaged  at  present  ; 
A  little  busy,  you  see,  mixing  my  sauce. 
Her.  Why  sure  !      How  can  it  be  ? 
what  dish  is  this  ? 
Birds  seemingly  ! 


\\^ 


97 


m^ 


->^/ 


rx^p^^ 


Peis.   [without  looking  up].     Some  in- 
dividual birds, 
Opposed  to  the  popular  democratic  birds, 
Rendered  themselves  obnoxious. 

Her.  So,  you've  pluckt  them, 

And  put  them  into  sauce,  provisionally  ? 

Peis.    [looking    «/>] .     Oh !    bless    me, 

Hercules,  I'm  quite  glad  to  see  you. 

What  brings  you  here  ? 

Her.     We're  come  upon  an  embassy 
From  heaven,  to  put  an  end  to  this  same 
war  .   .  . 
Servant  [to  Peisthetairus]. 
The  cruet's  empty,  our  oil  is  out. 

Peis.  No  matter. 

Fetch  more,  fetch  plenty,  I  tell  ye.    We 

shall  want  it. 

Her.  For,  in  fact  it  brings  no  benefit 

to  us. 

The  continuance  of  the  war  prolonging 

it; 
And  you  yourselves,  by  being  on  good 
terms 


/J 


sac-w 


A'mM^jm 


98 


Of  harmony   with  the  gods   .   .   .  why, 

for  the  future, 
You'd  never  need  to  know,  the  want  of 

rain. 
For  water  in  your  tanks ;  and  we  could 

serve  ye 
With  reasonable,  seasonable  weather. 
According  as  you  wished  it,  wet  or  dry. 
And  this  is  our  commission  coming  here. 
As  envoys,  with  authority  to  treat. 
Peis.   Well,   the   dispute,  you    know, 

from  the  beginning. 
Did  not  originate  with  us.     The  war 
(If  we  could  hope  in  any  way  to  bring 

you 
To   reasonable    terms)    might    be    con- 
cluded. 
Our  wishes,  I  declare  it,  are  for  peace. 
If  the   same   wish    prevails   upon    your 

part. 
The  arrangement  in  itself,  is  obvious. 
A  retrocession  on  the  part  of  Jupiter. 
The  birds,  again  to  be  reintegrated 


^1 


M 


hg!fe^ 


99 


In    their   estate    of   sovereignty.     This 
seems 

The    fair    result ;    and   if  we  can    con- 
clude, 

I  shall  hope  to  see  the  ambassadors  to 
supper. 
Her.   Well,  this  seems   satisfactory ; 

I  consent. 
Nep.    [/(7   Hercules].  What's   come 
to  ye  ?      What  do  ye  mean  ?      Are 
ye  gone  mad  ? 

You  glutton  ;   would  you  ruin  your  own 
father. 

Depriving    him    of   his    ancient    sover- 
eignty ? 
Peis.    [to  Neptune].    Indeed !      And 
would  not  it  be  a  better  method 

For   all   you   deities,  and  confirm   your 
power, 

To  leave   the   birds   to    manage    things 
below  ? 

You   sit   there,   muffled   in  your  clouds 
above, 


lOO 


^ 


While  all  mankind  are  shifting,  skulk- 
ing, lurking. 
And  perjuring   themselves   here  out  of 

sight. 
Whereas,  if  you   would   form   a  steady 

strict 
Alliance     with     the     Birds,    when     any 

man 
(Using  the  common  old  familiar  oath  — 
"  By  Jupiter  and  the  crow  " )   forswore 

himself. 
The  crow  would  pick  his  eyes  out,  for 
his  pains. 
Nep.  Well,   that   seems    plausible  — 

that's  fairly  put. 
Her.      I  think  so,  too. 
Peis.  [/o//>^Triballian].  Well,  what 

say  you  ? 
Trib.     Say  true. 

Peis.  Yes.     He    consents,  you    see ! 
But  I'll  explain  now 
The  services  and  good  offices  we  could 
do  you. 


lOI 


»®t 


Suppose    a    mortal    made    a    vow,    for 

instance, 
To    any    of  you ;    then    he   delays    and 

shuffles. 
And  says  "  the  gods  are  easy  creditors." 
In   such   a  case,  we  could  assist  ye,  I 

say. 
To  levy  a  fine. 

Nep.    \j)pen   to  conviction^   but    anxious 

to  proceed  on  sure  groundl . 
How  would  you  do  it  ?      Tell  me. 

Peis.  Why,  for  example,   when   he's 

counting  money. 
Or    sitting    in    the    bath,   we    give    the 

warrant 
To  a  pursuivant  of  ours,  a  kite  or  mag- 
pie; 
And    they    pounce    down    immediately, 

and  distrain 
Cash    or    apparel,    money    or    money's 

worth. 
To  twice  the  amount  of  your  demand 

upon  him. 


102 


vx 


Her.     Well,  I'm  for  giving  up   the 
sovereignty, 
For  my  part. 

Nep.   [convinced^  but  wishing  to  avoid 
responsibility^  by  voting  last"]. 

The  Triballian,  what  says  he  ? 
Her.  [aside  to  the  Triballian,  show- 
ing his  Jjst], 
You,  sir ;  do  you  want  to  be  well  banged 

or  not  ? 
Mind,  how  you  vote  !     Take  care  how 
you  provoke  me. 
Trie.  Yaw,  yaw.     Goot,  goot. 
Her.   He's  of  the  same  opinion. 
Nep.  Then,  since  you're  both  agreed, 

I  must  agree. 
Her.  [shouting  to   Peisthetairus,  the 
negotiators     having     withdrawn     to 
consult     at     the     extremity     of     the 
stage]. 
Well,  you  !   we've  settled  this  concern, 

you  see, 
About  the  sovereignty  ;  we're  all  agreed. 


103 


% 


^  ^\ 


U 


lVW 


^ 


Mi 


Peis.   Oh     faith,    there's    one    thing 
more,  I  recollect, 
Before    we    part ;    a   point   that    I   must 
mention. 
As  for  dame  Juno,  we'll  not  speak  of 
her; 
I've  no  pretensions,  Jupiter   may   keep 

her ; 
But,    for    that    other    queen,    his    man- 
ager, 
The  sovereign  goddess,  her  surrender  to 

me 
Is  quite  an  article  indispensable. 

Nep.  Your  views,  I  find,  are  not  dis- 
posed for  peace  : 
We  must  turn  homewards. 

Peis.  As  you  please,  so  be  it. 
Cook,   mind    what    you're    about    there 

with  the  sauce  ; 
Let's  have  it  rich  and  savoury,  thicken 
it  up  ! 
Her,   How    now,    man  ?     Neptune ! 
are  you  flying  off? 


104 


Must   we   remain    at    war,   here,   for   a 
woman  ? 
Nep.   But,  what  are  we  to  do  ? 
Her.   Do  ?     Why,  make  peace. 
Nep.   I  pity  you  really  !      I  feel  quite 
ashamed 
And    sorry   to   see  you ;    ruining   your- 
self! 
If    anything    should     happen    to    your 

father. 
After  surrendering  the  sovereignty, 
What's  to  become  of  you  ?     When  you 

yourself 
Have    voted    away   your  whole   inherit- 
ance : 
At    his    decease,    you    must    remain    a 
beggar. 
Peis.   [aside  to  Hercules].  Ah,  there  ! 
I  thought  so  ;   he's  coming  over  ye  ; 
Step    here   a   moment !      Let    me   speak 
to  ye  ! 
Your  uncle's  chousing  you,  my  poor 
dear  friend, 


105 


kl  f. 


'J^ 


»»^/ 


\m 


You've  not  a  farthing's  worth  of  expec- 
tation, 
From    what    your    father    leaves.       Ye 

can't  inherit 
By  law  :  ye're  illegitimate,  ye  know. 
Her.   Hey-day  !     Why,  what  do  you 

mean  ? 
Peis.       I  mean  the  fact ! 
Your  mother  was  a  foreigner ;   Minerva 
Is  counted  an  heiress,  everybody  knows  ; 
How  could  that  be,  supposing  her  own 

father 
To  have  had  a  lawful  heir  ? 

Her.   But,  if  my  father 
Should  choose  to  leave  the  property  to 

me. 
In  his  last  will. 

Peis.  The  law  would  cancel  it ! 
And  Neptune,  he  that's  using  all  his 
influence 
To  work  upon  ye,  he'd  be  the  very  first 
To  oppose  ye,  and  oust  ye,  as  the  tes- 
tator's brother. 


.'%. 


fm^m 


jm^ 


'S<^4>«Mm» 


io6 


I'll  tell  ye  what  the  law  says,  Solon's 
law  : 
"  A  foreign  heir  shall  not  succeed, 
Where  there  are  children  of  the  lawful 

breed  : 
But,  if  no  native  heir  there  be. 
The  kinsman  nearest  in  degree 
Shall  enter  on  the  property." 
Her.   Does     nothing    come 
then  ?     Nothing  at  all, 
Of  all  my  father  leaves  ? 

Peis.  Nothing  at  all, 

I  should  conceive.    But  you  perhaps  can 

tell  me. 
Did  he,  your  father, ever  take  ye  with  him. 
To  get  ye  enrolled  upon  the  register  ? 
Her.  No,    truly    I  .  .  .  thought    it 

strange,  .   .   .  he  .  .  .  never  did. 
Peis.     Well,   but   don't   think   things 
strange.     Don't  stand  there,  stam- 
mering. 
Puzzling  and  gaping.     Trust  yourself  to 
me. 


107 


!i 


"^ 


'Tis    I    must  make   your   fortune   after 
all! 
If  you'll  reside  and  settle  amongst  us 
here, 
I'll  make  you  chief  commander  among 

the  birds, 
Captain,  and  Autocrat  and  everything. 
Here   you  shall  domineer  and   rule   the 

roost, 
With     splendour     and      opulence      and 
pigeon's  milk. 
Her.    [/«  a  more  audible  voice^  and  in 
a  formal  decided  tone'^. 
I  agreed  with  you  before  :   I  think  your 

argument 
Unanswerable.     I  shall  vote  for  the  sur- 
render. 
Peis.    [to   Neptune].    And  what   say 

you  ? 
Nep.    [firmly    and   vehemently].      De- 
cidedly I  dissent. 
Peis.  Then  it  depends  upon  our  other 
friend, 


Io8 


It   rests  with   the  Triballian,  what   say 
you  ? 
Trib.   Me  tell  you  ;  pretty  girl,  grand 
beautiful  queen, 
Give  him  to  birds. 

Her.  Ay,  give  her  up,  you  mean. 

Nep.  Mean  !  He  knows  nothing  about 
it.      He  means  nothing 
But  chattering  like  a  magpie. 

Peis.  Well  "the  magpies." 

He  means,  the  magpies  or  the  birds  in 

general. 
The  republic  of  the  birds  —  their  gov- 
ernment — 
That  the  surrender  should  be  made  to 
them. 
Nep.   [in  great  wrath].   Well,  settle  it 
yourselves  ;  amongst  yourselves  ; 
In  your  own  style  :    I've  nothing  more 
to  say. 
Her.  [to  Peisthetairus]. 
Come,   we're   agreed    in    fact,   to    grant 
your  terms  ; 


rr;' 


109 


A 


,-v 


r*^i! 


But  you  must  come,  to  accompany  us  to 

the  sky  ; 
To  take  back  this  same  queen,  and  the 
other  matters. 
Peis.   [very  quietly].     It  happens  lucky 
enough,  with  this  provision 
For  a  marriage  feast.     It  seems  prepared 
on  purpose. 
Her.   Indeed,  and  it  does.     Suppose 
in  the  meanwhile, 
I  superintend  the  cookery,  and  turn  the 

roast. 
While  you  go  back  together. 

Nep.   [with  a  start  of  surprise  and  dis- 
gust']. Turn  the  roast ! 
A  pretty  employment !     Won't  you  go 
with  us  ? 
Her.  No,  thank  ye  ;  I'm  mighty  com- 
fortable here. 
Peis.   Come,  give  me  a  marriage  robe  ; 
I  must  be  going. 

—  From  "  The  Birds." 


IIO 


THE  TRIBE  OF  THE  MIGHTY 
TONGUE 

Along  the  Sycophantic  shore, 
And  where  the  savage  tribes  adore 

The  waters  of  the  Clepsydra, 
There  dwells  a  nation,  stern  and  strong. 
Armed  with  an  enormous  tongue. 

Wherewith  they  smite  and  slay  : 

With  their  tongues,  they  reap  and  sow, 
And  gather  all  the  fruits  that  grow, 

The  vintage  and  the  grain  ; 
Gorgias  is  their  chief  of  pride, 
And  many  more  there  be  beside 

Of  mickle  might  and  main. 

Good  they  never  teach,  nor  show 
But  how  to  work  men  harm  and  woe, 


III 


112 


APOTHEOSIS    OF   PEISTHE- 
TAIRUS 

Harbinger  or  Herald,  announcing  the 
approach  of  Peisthetairus. 

O  fortunate  !   O  triumphant !    O  be- 
yond 

All    power    of   speech   or   thought,   su- 
premely blest. 

Prosperous  happy  birds  !      Behold    your 
king. 

Here  in  his  glorious  palace  !      Mark  his 
entrance. 

Dazzling  all  eyes,  resplendent  as  a  star; 

Outshining   all   the    golden   lights,   that 
beam 

From  the  rich  roof,  even  as  a  summer 
sun. 

Or   brighter   than    the    sun,   blazing    at 
noon. 
He  comes ;   and  at  his  side  a  female 
form 


w 


;>^j^ 


113 


Of  beauty  ineffable  ;  wielding  on  high, 

In  his  right  hand,  the  winged  thunder- 
bolt, 

Jove's   weapon.      While   the    fumes    of 
incense  spread 

Circling     around,     and     subtle     odours 
steal 

Upon    the    senses    from    the    wreathed 
smoke. 

Curling  and  rising  in  the  tranquil  air. 
See,  there  he  stands  !      Now  must  the 
sacred  Muse 

Give  with  auspicious  words  her  welcome 
due. 


[/' 


Semichorus.   Stand  aside  and  clear  the 

ground, 
Spreading  in  a  circle  round 
With  a  worthy  welcoming ; 
To  salute  our  noble  king- 

T  •  . 

In  his  splendour  and  his  pride, 
Coming  hither,  side  by  side. 
With  his  happy  lovely  bride. 


^M 


^ifJQl 


114 


^ 


Kn- 


O  the  fair  delightful  face  ! 
What  a  figure  !   What  a  grace  ! 
What  a  presence  !   What  a  carriage  ! 
What  a  noble  worthy  marriage. 

Let  the  birds  rejoice  and  sing. 
At  the  wedding  of  the  king  : 
Happy  to  congratulate 
Such  a  blessing  to  the  State. 

Hymen,  Hymen,  Ho ! 

Jupiter,  that  god  sublime. 
When  the  Fates,  in  former  time, 
Matched  him  with  the  Queen  of  Heaven, 
At  a  solemn  banquet  given. 
Such  a  feast  was  held  above , 
And  the  charming  God  of  Love, 
Being  present  in  command. 
As  a  Bridesman  took  his  stand, 
With  the  golden  reins  in  hand. 

Hymen,  Hymen,  Ho  ! 

Peis.   I  accept  and  approve  the  marks 
of  your  love. 


N^' 


S%* 


W\ 


^J'" 


^rTii 


~^^^SS 


"5 


& 


4 


Your  music  and  verse  I  applaud  and  ad- 


mire. 


But  rouse  your  invention,  and  raising  it 

higher, 
Describe  me  the  terrible  engine  of  Jove, 
The  thunder  of  earth  and   the  thunder 

above. 


Chor.   O  dreaded  bolt  of  heaven, 
The  clouds  with  horror  cleaving. 
And  ye  terrestrial  thunders  deep  and  low 
Closed  in  the  subterranean  caves  below. 
That   even    at    this    instant    growl    and 

rage, 
Shaking  with  awful   sound   this   earthly 

stage  ; 
Our  king  by  you  has  gained  his  due ; 
By  your  assistance,  yours  alone, 
Everything  is  made  his  own, 
Jove's  dominion  and  his  throne; 
And  his  happiness  and  pride. 
His  delightful  lovely  bride. 

Hymen,  Hymen,  Ho ! 


Ii6 


Peis.   Birds  of  ocean  and  of  air, 
Hither  in  a  troop  repair. 
To  the  royal  ceremony, 
Our  triumphant  matrimony  ! 

Come  for  us  to  feast  and  feed  ye  ! 

Come  to  revel,  dance,  and  sing  !  - 
Lovely  creature !   Let  me  lead  ye 
Hand  in  hand,  and  wing  to  wing. 
—  From  «  The  Birdsr 


117 


II. 


From    the    Satirical    Dia- 
logues  of  Lucian 

(From  the  translation  of  Howard  Williams) 


A   MISCHIEVOUS   INFANT 

HEPHAISTOS  RECOUNTS  TO  APOLLO  THE 
ACTIONS  OF  THE  INFANT  PRODIGY, 
HERMES 

Hephaistos.  Apollo,  have  you  seen 
Maia's  baby,  which  is  just  born  ?  What 
a  pretty  thing  it  is,  and  how  it  smiles  on 
every  one,  and  already  plainly  shows  he 
is  going  to  turn  out  some  great  treasure  ! 

Apollo.  That  a  baby,  or  a  great  treas- 


Ii8 


ure,  who  is  older  than    lapetus  himself, 
as  far  as  depends  on  rascality  ! 

Heph.  And  what  possible  mischief 
could  an  infant  just  born  be  able  to 
do? 

Ap.  Ask  Poseidon,  whose  trident  he 
stole,  or  Ares ;  for  even  from  the  latter 
he  abstracted  his  sword  from  the  sheath 
without  being  found  out,  not  to  speak 
of  myself,  whom  he  disarmed  of  my  bow 
and  arrows. 

Heph.  The  new-born  brat  did  this, 
who  hardly  keeps  on  his  feet,  who  is 
still   in  his  long  clothes  ? 

Ap,  You  will  know  well  enough, 
Hephaistos,  if  only  he  come  near  you. 

Heph.  Indeed,  he  already  has  been 
near  me, 

Ap.  Well,  have  you  all  your  tools, 
and  is  none  of  them  missing  ? 

Heph.  All  of  them  are  safe,  my  dear 
Apollo. 

Ap.  All  the  same,  examine  carefully. 


Mmmm- 


iriwmw 


'Jt^^ 


119 


K 


^^i 


.\ 


^' 


^X.d£u 


^*VW«»v 


'••Wk 


>^k^« 


<=2. 


Heph.  By  heaven  !  I  don't  see  my 
fire-tongs. 

Ap.  No,  but  you  will  probably  see 
them  among  the  infant's  swaddling 
clothes. 

Heph.  Is  he  so  light-fingered,  for  all 
the  world  as  though  he  had  mastered 
the  purloining  art  in  his  mother's 
womb  ? 

Ap,  No  wonder  you  ask,  for  you  have 
not  heard  his  glib  and  voluble  prattling. 
He  is,  besides,  quite  ready  to  wait  upon 
us.  And  yesterday  he  challenged  Eros, 
and  wrestled  with  him  and  threw  him, 
somehow  tripping  up  his  feet.  Then, 
while  he  was  getting  praised  for  it,  he 
stole  Aphrodite's  cestus,  as  she  was  fold- 
ing him  to  her  breast  on  account  of  his 
victory  ;  and,  while  he  was  laughing,  the 
sceptre  of  Zeus,  also.  And,  if  the  thun- 
der-bolt were  not  a  little  too  heavy,  and 
had  a  good  deal  of  fire  in  it,  he  would 
have  filched  that  too. 


120 


Heph.  The  child  you  describe  is  a 
regular  Gorgon. 

A  p.  Not  only  so,  but  already  he  is  a 
musical  genius,  also. 

Heph.  f>om  what  can  you  draw  your 
inference  as  to  that  ? 

Ap.  Somewhere  or  other  he  found  a 
dead  tortoise,  and  from  it  formed  a  musi- 
cal instrument :  for,  having  fitted  in  the 
side-pieces  and  joined  them  by  a  bar, 
he  next  fixed  pegs,  and  inserted  a  bridge 
beneath  them ;  and,  after  stretching 
seven  strings  upon  it,  he  set  about 
playing  a  very  pretty  and  harmonious 
tune,  so  that  even  I,  practised  as  I  have 
long  been  in  playing  the  cithara,  envied 
him.  And  Maia  assured  us  that  not 
even  his  nights  would  he  pass  in  heaven, 
but  from  mere  busybodyness  he  would 
descend  as  far  as  Hades,  to  steal  some- 
thing from  thence,  I  suppose.  He  is 
furnished  with  wings,  and  has  made  for 
himself  a  sort  of  staff  of  wonderful  vir- 


121 


122 


A\*. 


MATERNAL    PRIDE 


/,m 


HERA  AND  LETO  DISPUTE 
MERITS  OF  THEIR 
CHILDREN 


ABOUT     THE 
RESPECTIVE 


Hera.  Fine  creatures,  indeed,  are  the 
children  you  have  presented  to  Zeus, 
Leto  ! 

Leto.  It's  not  all  of  us,  Hera,  u^ho 
can  produce  such  progeny  as  your  He- 
phaistos. 

Hera.  But  this  same  cripple  is,  at  all 
events,  of  some  use.  He  is  an  excellent 
workman,  and  has  decorated  Heaven  for 
us  in  a  thoroughly  artistic  fashion,  and 
he  married  Aphrodite,  and  is  made  much 
of  by  her ;  while  as  for  your  children, 
one  of  them  is  beyond  all  measure,  mas- 
culine, and   mountainish,  and  to  crown 


W'^- 


123 


^'^^ 


all,  has  made  off  to  Scythia,  and  every- 
one knows  what  her  diet  is  there,  slaying 
strangers,  and  imitating  the  Scythians 
themselves,  who  are  cannibals.  As  for 
Apollo,  he  makes  pretence  to  universal 
knowledge  —  to  shoot  with  the  bow,  to 
play  the  cithara,  to  be  a  doctor,  and  to 
prophesy  —  and  having  set  up  his  oracle- 
shops,  one  at  Delphi,  another  at  Klaros 
and  at  Didyma,  he  juggles  and  cheats 
those  who  consult  him,  giving  crooked 
answers,  and  double  meanings,  appli- 
cable to  either  side  of  the  question,  so 
that  he  runs  no  risk  of  failure,  and  from 
such  trickery  he  makes  his  fortune  :  for 
numerous  are  the  fools,  and  those  who 
offer  themselves  willing  victims  to  be 
cheated  and  imposed  upon.  But  by  the 
wiser  part  of  men  it  is  not  unknown 
that  he  is,  for  the  most  part,  a  mere 
juggler  in  words.  The  prophet  himself, 
at  all  events,  did  not  know  he  would 
kill  his  favourite  with  the  quoit,  nor  did 


124 


he  divine  for  his  own  advantage,  that 
Daphne  would  flee  from  him  ;  and  that, 
too,  although  he  is  so  handsome  and  has 
such  flowing  locks.  So  I  don't  see  why 
you  thought  you  had  finer  children  than 
poor  Niobe. 

Leto.  These  same  children,  however 
—  the  murderer  of  strangers  and  the 
lying  prophet  —  I  am  well  aware  how  it 
vexes  you  to  see  them  in  the  company 
of  the  gods ;  and  especially  whenever 
the  one  is  commended  for  her  beauty, 
and  the  other  performs  on  his  cithara,  to 
the  admiration  of  all  in  the  banqueting- 
hall. 

Hera.  I  could  not  help  laughing, 
Leto  —  he  an  object  of  admiration, 
whom,  if  the  Muses  had  chosen  to  give 
a  just  decision,  Marsyas  would  have 
flayed,  as  himself  the  conqueror  in  the 
musical  contest.  But,  as  it  was,  the  poor 
man  was  overreached,  and  perished  by 
an  unjust  doom.    And,  as  for  your  beau- 


f 


v^ 


125 


tiful  virgin,  she  is  so  beautiful,  that, 
when  she  found  she  had  been  seen  by 
Actaion,  from  fear  the  youth  might  pro- 
claim her  ugliness,  she  set  on  him  his 
own  dogs.  I  don't  say  all  I  might,  for 
I  omit  to  dwell  on  the  fact,  that,  if  she 
were  really  a  virgin,  she  could  not  even 
assist  ladies  in  the  straw. 

Leto.  You  bear  yourself  supercili- 
ously, Hera,  because  you  share  the  bed 
and  throne  of  Zeus  ;  and  for  that  reason, 
you  utter  your  insults  without  fear. 
But,  however,  I  shall  soon  see  you  in 
tears  again,  when  he  deserts  you  and 
goes  down  to  earth  again  in  the  form 
of  a  bull  or  a  swan. 


126 


7k 


III. 

THE    LIMITATIONS    OF    LOVE 

EROS  EXPLAINS  TO  HIS  MOTHER  WHY 
HE  DOES  NOT  ASSAIL  ATHENA,  THE 
MUSJE,    AND    ARTEMIS 

Aphrodite.  Pray,  why  in  the  world, 
my  dear  Eros,  have  you  completely  sub- 
dued to  yourself  all  the  rest  of  the 
Gods  —  Zeus,  Poseidon,  Apollo,  Rhea, 
me,  your  mother  —  and  kept  your  hands 
off  Athena  alone ;  and  why,  as  far  as 
she  is  concerned,  is  your  torch  without 
a  spark,  your  quiver  empty  of  arrows, 
and  yourself  without  a  bow  and  without 
practice  ? 

Eros.  I  am  afraid  of  her,  mother,  for 
she  is  terrible,  and  her  eyes  burn  with  a 
fierce  brightness,  and  she  is  dreadfully 
masculine.     At   all  events,  whenever  I 


>5fv^'»^ 


127 


W: 


advance  towards  her  with  bent  bow,  she 
shakes  her  crest  at  me,  and  frightens  me 
out  of  my  wits,  and  I  am  all  of  a  trem- 
ble, and  my  arrows  slip  from  my  hands. 

Aph.  Why,  was  not  Ares  more  alarm- 
ing ?  and  yet  you  disarmed  him  in  a 
moment,  and   have  conquered   him. 

Eros.  Yes,  but  he  readily  allows  me 
to  approach  him,  and  invites  me  of  his 
own  accord,  while  Athena  is  always 
watching  me  suspiciously  and  secretly  : 
and  once  I  flew  by  her,  casually,  with 
my  torch,  and  said  she,  "  If  you  come 
near  me,  by  my  father,  I  will  run  you 
through  in  a  moment  with  my  pretty 
spear,  or  I  will  seize  you  by  the  foot 
and  pitch  you  into  Tartarus,  or  tear  you 
in  pieces  with  my  own  hand,  and  be  the 
death  of  you."  Many  such  threats  has 
she  uttered,  and  she  puts  on  sour  looks, 
and  has  on  her  breast  a  frightful  sort  of 
face,  with  snakes  all  over  for  hair,  which 
is  my  especial  horror,  for  it  frightens  me 


128 


like  a  very  Mormo,  and  I  flee  whenever 
I  catch  a  glimpse  of  it. 

Aph.  But  you  fear  Athena,  as  you 
say,  and  the  Gorgon,  and  that,  though 
you  are  not  afraid  of  the  thunderbolt 
of  Zeus!  And  the  Muses  —  why  are 
they  unwounded  and  out  of  reach  of 
your  darts  ?  Do  they,  too,  shake 
crests,  and  exhibit  Gorgons  in  front  of 
them  ? 

Eros.  I  have  an  awe  of  them,  mother, 
for  they  are  grave  and  respectable,  and 
are  always  in  some  profound  meditation 
or  other,  and  are  occupied  in  song,  and 
I  often  stand  by  them,  beguiled  by  their 
melody. 

Aph.  Well,  leave  them  out  of  the 
question,  too,  as  they  are  grave  and 
respectable.  But  Artemis  —  why  don't 
you  inflict  a  wound  on  her  ? 

Eros.  In  a  word,  it  is  impossible  even 
to  come  up  with  her,  as  she  is  always 
fleeing  through  the  mountains.      Then, 


129 


too,  she  has  already  her  own  peculiar 
kind  of  love. 

Aph.  For  what,  child  ? 

Eros.  The  hunting  of  stags  and  fawns, 
pursuing  them  for  the  purpose  of  captur- 
ing them  or  shooting  them  down,  and 
she  is  entirely  devoted  to  that  sort  of 
thing.  When,  however,  her  brother, 
although  an  archer  himself  and  a  far- 
shooter — 

Aph.  I  know,  child,  you  have  shot 
your  arrow  at  him  often  enough. 


130 


IV. 
THE   APPLE   OF   DISCORD 

PANOPE  RELATES  TO  GALENE  THE  SCENE 
OF  THE  INTRODUCTION  OF  THE 
GOLDEN  APPLE  BY  ERIS  INTO  THE 
NUPTIAL  FEAST  OF  PELEUS  AND 
THETIS,  THE  DISCORD  BETWEEN 
THE  THREE  RIVAL  GODDESSES,  AND 
THEIR  DISMISSAL  TO  MOUNT  IDA 
FOR     JUDGMENT 

Panope.  Did  you  see,  Galene,  yes- 
terday, what  Eris  did  at  the  banquet  in 
Thessaly,  because  she  was  not,  also, 
invited  to  the  feast  ? 

Galene.  I  was  not  at  the  banquet 
with  you,  for  Poseidon  ordered  me, 
Panope,  to  keep  the  sea  unagitated 
meanwhile ;  but,  what,  then,  did  Eris, 
for  not  being  present  as  a  guest  ? 


131 


^ 


Pan.  Thetis  and  Peleus  had  already 
gone  off  to  their  bridal  chamber,  es- 
corted by  Amphitrite  and  Poseidon. 
But  Eris,  meanwhile,  unobserved  by 
any — and  she  could  easily  be  so,  while 
some  were  drinking,  others  making  a 
clatter,  or  giving  all  their  attention  to 
Apollo  playing  on  the  cithara,  or  to  the 
Muses  as  they  sang — threw  into  the 
midst  of  the  banqueting-hall  a  certain 
very  beautiful  apple,  all  of  gold,  Galene. 
And  it  was  inscribed  :  "  Let  the  beauti- 
ful one  have  me."  And  rolling  along, 
as  if  intentionally,  it  came  where  Hera 
and  Aphrodite  and  Athena  were  reclin- 
ing ;  and  when  Hermes,  taking  it  up, 
read  out  the  inscription,  we  Nereids 
held  our  tongues,  for  what  were  we  to 
do,  in  the  presence  of  those  Goddesses  ? 
Then  they  began  to  put  forward  each 
one  her  pretensions,  and  each  claimed 
the  apple  to  be  her  own.  And  had  not 
Zeus   separated   them,   the   affair  would 


^\ 


nwjg- 


132 


have  ended  even  in  blows.  But,  says 
he,  "  I  will  not  myself  judge  in  the 
matter,  although  they  earnestly  called 
upon  him  to  do  so  ;  but  go  away  with 
you  to  Ida  to  the  presence  of  the  youth 
Paris,  who,  as  he  is  a  connoisseur  in 
female  charms,  knows  how  to  distin- 
guish the  superior  beauty,  and  he  would 
not  give  wrong  judgment." 

Gal.  What,  pray,  did  the  Goddesses 
do,  Panope  ? 

Pan.  This  very  day,  I  believe,  they 
are  off  to  Ida,  and  somebody  will  come 
shortly  to  announce  to  us  the  winner. 

Gal.  As  I  stand  here  now,  I  tell 
you,  no  other  will  be  victorious,  with 
Aphrodite  for  competitor,  unless  the 
umpire  be  altogether  dull-eyed. 


>»^, 


•jesH- 


. ' '. '.  • ..  ••. 


♦^*^ 


133 


^N 


^ 


^ 


Ai- 


THE    JUDGMENT    OF    PARIS 


A 


'A^'  V 


^v 


Zeus.  Take  this  apple  here,  Hermes, 
and  hie  to  Phrygia,  to  the  presence  of 
the  son  of  Priam,  the  cowherd  —  he  is 
tending  his  cows  on  the  Gargarus  sum- 
mit of  Ida  —  and  say  to  him  :  "  Paris, 
Zeus  bids  you,  since  you  are  yourself  a 
good-looking  youth,  and  clever  in  love- 
matters,  to  decide  for  the  Goddesses  here 
which  is  the  most  beautiful.  And  let 
the  winner  receive  the  apple  as  the  prize 
of  the  contest."  And  now.  Goddesses, 
it  is  quite  time  for  yourselves  to  set  off 
to  the  presence  of  your  judge.  For,  for 
my  part,  I  decline,  for  myself,  the  office 
of  arbitrator,  loving  you,  as  I  do,  with 
equal  affection ;  and,  if  it  were  only 
possible,  I  would  with  pleasure  see  you 


%r^ 


^ 


dk-rW 


^^ 


ftw* 


134 


all  three  winners.  Especially  do  I  decline, 
as  in  giving  the  prize  of  beauty  to  one, 
I  must  certainly  incur  the  hatred  of  the 
rest.  For  this  reason  I  am  myself  no 
suitable  umpire  for  you  —  but  this  Phry- 
gian youth,  to  whom  you  are  going,  is 
of  princely  birth,  and  is  a  relative  of 
Ganymedes  here.  In  other  respects  he 
is  simple  and  mountain-bred.  No  one 
would  think  him  unworthy  of  such  a 
spectacle. 

Aph.  As  far  as  I  am  concerned,  Zeus, 
even  though  you  should  appoint  Momus 
himself  our  judge,  I  will  cheerfully  go  to 
the  exhibition  ;  for,  indeed,  what  could 
he  have  to  find  fault  with  in  me  ?  The 
man,  however,  will  have  to  satisfy  these 
goddesses,  too. 

Hera.  Oh  !  it's  not  we.  Aphrodite, 
who  have  to  fear  —  no,  not  though  your 
own  Ares  should  be  entrusted  with  the 
arbitration.  May  we,  also,  accept  this 
Paris,  whoever  he  may  be. 


135 


Zeus.  And  does  this  content  you, 
daughter,  too  ?  What  say  you  ?  You 
turn  away  and  blush  ?  It  is  the  privi- 
lege of  you  virgins,  indeed,  to  be  shy 
about  such  matters  ;  but  you  nod  assent, 
however.  Away  with  you  all,  then,  and 
see  that  you  are  not  hard  upon  your  judge 
—  you  who  have  been  vanquished,  and 
don't  have  any  mischief  inflicted  on  the 
youth.  For  it's  not  possible  for  you  to 
be  all  equally  beauties. 

Hermes.  Let  us  start  off  straight  for 
Phrygia,  I  leading  the  way,  and  do  you 
follow  me  without  loitering,  and  keep 
up  your  spirits.  1  am  personally  ac- 
quainted with  Paris  ;  he  is  a  good-look- 
ing youth,  and  amorous  into  the  bargain, 
and  very  competent  to  judge  in  all  such 
matters.  He  would  not  give  a  bad 
judgment. 

Aph.  That  is  all  fair,  and  you  speak 
quite  after  my  mind  —  that  he  is  the 
right  judge   for    us.    [Confdentially]    But 


136 


■sSS;^^      V 


is  he  a  bachelor,  or  has  he  some  wife  or 
other  living  with  him  ? 

Her.  Not  absolutely  a  bachelor,  Aph- 
rodite. 

A  PH.   How  do  you  mean  ? 

Her.  Some  lady  of  Ida  '  appears  to 
be  keeping  company  with  him  —  well 
enough  in  her  way,  but  countrified  and 
dreadfully  boorish.  However,  he  does 
not  seem  to  be  excessively  attached  to 
her.  But,  pray,  why  do  you  put  these 
questions  ? 

Aph.   I  asked  quite  indifferently. 

Athena.  Holloa  !  you  sir,  there,  you 
are  exceeding  your  commission  in  com- 
municating with  her  in  private. 

Her.  It  was  nothing  extraordinary, 
Athena,  and  nothing  against  you.  She 
only  asked  me  if  Paris  is  a  bachelor. 

Ath.  And  pray,  why  is  she  so  inquis- 
itive about  that  ^ 

Her.   I  don't  know.      But  she  says  it 

'  CEnone,  the  Naiad  or  river-nymph. 


\\^ 


137 


'J^y 


R'.   "f^^* 


occurred  to  her  quite  casually,  and  she 
had  no  purpose  in  asking. 

Ath.   Well,  is  he  unmarried  ? 

Her.  I  think  not. 

Ath.  What  then?  Has  he  a  desire 
for  the  military  life,  and  is  he  at  all  am- 
bitious for  glory,  or  is  he  altogether 
devoted  to  his  herds  ? 

Her.  The  exact  truth  I  am  unable  to 
say  :  but  one  must  suppose  that  a  young 
fellow  like  him  would  be  eager  to  ac- 
quire fame  in  these  things,  and  would 
like  to  be  first  in  fighting. 

Aph.  \pouting\.  Do  you  see  ?  I  don't 
find  fault,  or  charge  you  with  talking  to 
her  on  the  sly  —  for  such  sort  of  queru- 
lousness  is  peculiar  to  people  not  over 
much  pleased  with  themselves  :  it's  not 
Aphrodite's  way. 

Her.  Indeed   she    asked    me    almost 

exactly  the   same   question    as    she    did 

ou :  so  don't   be   in   a    pet,   and   don't 

imagine  you  are  worse  treated,  if  I  an- 


m^^^^f^M^^. 


138 


;.:'//« 


swered  her  somewhat  frankly  and  simply. 
But  while  we  are  talking,  we  have  al- 
ready advanced  far  on  our  road,  and 
taken  leave  of  the  stars,  and,  in  fact,  are 
almost  opposite  Phrygia.  And  now,  in 
fact,  I  see  Ida  and  the  whole  of  Gar- 
garus  distinctly,  and,  if  I  am  not  de- 
ceived, Paris  himself,  your  umpire. 

Hera.  But  where  is  he  ?  For  he  is 
not  visible  to  my  eyes. 

Her.  Look  carefully  there  to  the  left, 
Hera  —  not  near  the  top  of  the  moun- 
tain, but  along  the  flank,  where  the  cave 
is ;  there,  where  you  see  the  herd. 

Hera.   But  I  don't  see  the  herd. 

Her.  How  ?  Do  you  not  see  tiny 
cows  in  the  direction  of  my  finger,  so, 
—  advancing  from  the  midst  of  the  rocks, 
and  some  one  running  down  from  the 
cliff  with  a  shepherd's  crook,  and  stop- 
ping them  from  scattering  ahead  ? 

Hera.  Now  I  see,  if  it  really  is  he. 

Her.   But  it   is.     And    since  we    are 


:L^S^ 


^ai^ 


139 


now  so  near,  let  us,  if  you  please,  settle 
down  on  terra  firma^  and  walk,  that  we 
may  not  quite  disconcert  him  by  flying 
down  all  on  a  sudden  from  the  clouds. 

Hera.  You  are  right ;  so  let  us  do  — 
and  now  we  have  made  our  own  descent, 
it  is  high  time  for  you.  Aphrodite,  to 
advance  and  show  us  the  way.  For  you, 
as  is  reasonable  to  expect,  are  well  ac- 
quainted with  the  locality,  having  fre- 
quently, as  report  goes,  come  down  here 
to  Anchises. 

Aph.  These  sneers  of  yours,  Hera, 
don't  disturb  me  over  much. 

Her.  Well,  I  will  act  as  your  guide 
and  chaperon ;  for  I  myself,  in  fact, 
passed  some  time  on  Ida  when  Zeus,  to 
be  sure,  was  in  love  with  the  Phrygian 
boy ;  and  often  have  I  come  here,  when 
sent  down  to  look  after  the  child.  And 
when,  at  length,  he  was  mounted  on  the 
eagle,  I  flew  by  his  side  with  him,  and 
helped  to  support  my  handsome  charge  : 


140 


\3 


and,  if  I  recollect  aright,  from  this  rock 
here  he  snatched  him  up  —  for  the  boy 
happened  to  be  piping  to  his  flock  at  the 
moment  —  and  flying  down  himself, 
from  behind,  Zeus  very  lightly  embraced 
him  in  his  talons,  and,  grasping  his  tur- 
ban with  his  beak,  bore  the  lad  aloft  in 
a  terrible  state  of  alarm,  as  he  was  gaz- 
ing on  his  ravisher  with  neck  bent 
backwards.  Then,  picking  up  his  shep- 
herd's pipe,  for  he  had  let  it  fall  in  his 
fright,  I  —  but  excuse  me,  for  here  is 
our  umpire  close  at  hand  :  so  let  us 
accost  him.  —  Good  day  to  you,  herds- 
man. 

Paris.  The  same  to  you,  young  man. 
But  who  are  you,  and  what  is  the  pur- 
pose of  your  visit  to  us  ?  What  ladies 
are  these  you  are  conducting  ?  For  such 
town  belles  as  they  are,  they  are  not 
fitted  for  roving  over  rough  mountains. 

Her.  But  they  are  not  women,  Paris  ; 
but  it  is  Hera,  and  Athena,  and  Aphro- 


141 


1^;  I:  J. 


dite  you  see ;  and  I,  I  am  the  God 
Hermes  Zeus  has  sent  with  them.  But 
why  do  you  tremble  and  turn  so  pale  ? 
Don't  be  frightened,  for  there  is  nothing 
to  be  afraid  of.  He  only  bids  you  to 
be  the  judge  of  their  beauty :  "  for 
since,"  says  he,  ''you  are  a  handsome 
youth  yourself,  and  clever  in  love-mat- 
ters, I  entrust  the  judgment  to  you  ;  and 
when  you  have  read  the  inscription  on 
the  apple,  you  will  know  the  prize 
of  the  contest. 

Paris.  Come,  let  me  see  what  it  all 
means  —  "Let  the  beautiful  one 
TAKE  ME,"  it  says.  How,  pray.  Sir 
Hermes,  could  I,  a  mere  mortal  myself, 
and  a  simple  peasant,  too,  be  a  judge  of 
so  preternaturally  wonderful  a  spectacle, 
and  one  too  great  for  a  poor  herdsman 
to  decide  upon  ?  To  judge  in  matters 
of  such  importance  is  rather  for  deli- 
cately-nurtured persons  and  courtiers : 
but,  for  my  part,  whether  one   she-goat 


142 


be  more  beautiful  than  another  she-goat, 
or  one  heifer  surpasses  another  heifer 
in  beauty  I  could  perhaps  decide  secun- 
dum artem.  But  these  ladies  are  all 
equally  beautiful,  and  I  don't  know  how 
a  man  could  wrench  away  his  gaze  and 
transfer  it  from  the  one  to  the  other; 
for  it  will  not  easily  unfix  itself,  but 
where  it  first  rests,  to  that  part  it  clings, 
and  commends  what's  immediately  be- 
fore it.  And  even  though  it  pass  on  to 
another  part,  that  too  it  sees  to  be  beau- 
tiful, and  lingers,  and  is  caught  by  the 
adjoining  charms ;  and,  in  short,  their 
beauty  has  circumfused  itself  about  me, 
and  wholly  taken  possession  of  me,  and 
I  am  vexed  that  I,  too,  cannot,  like 
Argus,  see  with  all  my  body.  I  think  I 
should  judge  fairly,  if  I  give  the  apple  to 
all :  for,  indeed,  there  is  this  difficulty 
besides  ;  it  happens  that  this  lady  is  the 
sister  and  wife  of  Zeus,  and  that  these 
are  his  daughters.      How,  I   should  like 


143 


^ 


wo 


\\\\ 


''111 


to  know,  is  not  the  decision  a  hard  one 
from  this  point  of  view,  too  ? 

Her.  I  don't  know  about  that:  but 
it's  not  possible  to  shirk  the  commands 
of  Zeus,  I  know. 

Paris.  This  one  thing,  Hermes,  per- 
suade them  to  —  that  the  two  defeated 
ladies  be  not  angry  with  me,  but  con- 
sider the  error  to  attach  to  my  eyes 
alone. 

Her.  \confers  with  the  Goddesses^  apart']. 
They  promise  to  comply  with  your  re- 
quest. And  now  it  is  high  time  for  you 
to  proceed  with  your  judgment. 

Paris.  I  will  do  my  best  endeavours, 
for  how  can  one  help  it  ?  But  this  first 
I  wish  to  know  —  will  it  be  quite  enough 
to  view  them  as  they  are,  or  will  it  be 
necessary  to  make  them  undress  for  an 
accurate  examination  ? 

Her.  That  must  be  your  part  as  judge 
to  decide.  Give  your  orders  how  and  in 
what  way  you  like. 


:¥i 


•> 


^m 


144 


Paris.  How  I  like,  really  ?  I  wish  to 
see  them  undressed. 

Her.  Ho,  you  ladies  there,  off  with 
your  clothes.  [  To  Paris'^  For  your  part 
make  a  thorough  survey  —  as  for  me,  I 
avert  my  face  at  once. 

Hera.  Very  well  said,  Paris,  and  I 
will  be  the  first  to  undress,  that  you  may 
perceive  that  I  have  not  only  "  white 
arms,"  and  that  I  am  not  proud  of  hav- 
ing "  cow's-eyes  "  only,  but  that  I  am 
equally  and  proportionally  beautiful  all 
over. 

Paris.  Off  with  your  clothes,  too, 
Aphrodite. 

Ath.  Don't  let  her  undress,  Paris, 
before  she  lays  aside  her  cestus  —  for 
she  is  an  enchantress  —  for  fear  she 
may  bewitch  you  by  its  means.  Indeed, 
she  ought  not  either  to  have  appeared 
here  so  meretriciously  tricked  out,  nor 
painted  up  with  so  many  dyes  and  cos- 
metics for  all  the  world  as  if  she  were 


145 


in  fact  some  lady  of  the  demi-monde, 
but  have  exhibited  her  beauty  un- 
adorned. 

Paris  \jurning  to  Jphrodite].  They 
are  quite  right  as  to  that  cestus  of  yours  : 
so  you  must  e'en  dofF  it. 

Aph.  Why,  then,  do  you  not  also, 
Athena,  dofF  that  helmet  of  yours,  and 
display  your  bare  head,  instead  of  shak- 
ing that  plumed  crest  and  terrifying  your 
judge  ?  Are  you  afraid  that  fiercely- 
glaring  look  about  your  eyes,  seen  with- 
out that  frightful  object,  may  be  set  down 
to  your  discredit  ? 

Ath.  There,  I  have  taken  ofF  this 
objectionable  helmet,  for  your  satisfac- 
tion. 

Aph.  There,  too,  is  the  cestus,  for 
yours. 

Hera.   Well,  let  us  undress. 

Paris  [expressing  in  his  features  the  ut- 
most admiration'].  O  Zeus,  worker  of 
miracles  !      the     glorious     vision  !      the 


146 


beautv !  the  delight !  How  superb  is 
the  Virgin-Goddess !  And  how  right 
royally,  and  with  what  dignity  does  this 
Goddess  [Hera]  shine  in  all  her  splen- 
dour !  and  how  truly  right  worthy  of 
Zeus  !  But  how  sweetly  does  this  God- 
dess here  [Aphrodite]  look ;  and  what  a 
kind  of  pretty,  seducing  smile  she  has  ! 
—  Well,  now  I  have  enough  of  this 
felicity  —  but,  if  it  is  agreeable,  I  wish 
to  have  a  look  at  each  of  them  sepa- 
rately, in  private ;  as,  at  present,  I  am 
really  in  doubt,  and  don't  know  on  what 
part  to  fix  my  gaze,  for  my  eyes  are  dis- 
tracted in  every  direction. 

Aph.   Let  us  do  as  he  wishes. 

Paris.  Withdraw  then,  you  two,  and 
do  vou,  Hera,  remain. 

Hera.  I  will  do  so  —  And,  after  you 
have  had  a  good  look  at  me,  it  will  be 
time  for  you  to  consider  other  matters 
besides  —  whether  the  gifts  at  my  dis- 
posal, in  return   for   your  vote,  do    not 


147 


appear  fair  to  you.  For  if,  my  dear 
Paris,  you  award  me  the  prize  of  beauty, 
you  shall  be  lord  of  all  Asia. 

Paris.  Our  decision  depends  not  on 
bribes.  Now,  withdraw,  please ;  for 
whatever  seems  proper  will  have  to  be 
done  hereafter.  And,  now,  Athena,  do 
you  approach. 

Ath.  Here  I  am  at  your  service. 
And,  in  my  turn,  Paris,  if  you  award 
to  me  the  prize  of  beauty,  you  shall 
never  come  out  of  battle  worsted,  but 
always  victorious ;  for  I  will  make  a 
warrior  and  a  conqueror  of  you. 

Paris.  I  don't  want  war  and  fighting, 
Athena ;  for  peace,  as  you  see,  at  pres- 
ent, prevails  both  in  Phrygia  and  in 
Lydia,  and  my  father's  kingdom  is  free 
from  war.  But  never  mind,  for  you 
shall  not  be  the  worse  for  it,  even 
though  we  do  not  give  judgment  for 
bribes.  Well,  now  put  on  your  clothes 
again,  and  replace  the  helmet  on   your 


148 


head,  for  I   have  seen  enough.     It  is 
now  time  for  Aphrodite  to  appear. 

Aph.  Here  am  I  at  your  elbow,  and 
examine  carefully  each  part  of  me,  one 
by  one,  passing  over  nothing,  but  dwell- 
ing upon  every  one  of  my  charms  ;  and, 
if  you  will,  my  handsome  youth,  listen  to 
this  from  me.  1  have  reason  to  ask  you 
to  do  so  ;  for  I  have  long  ago  observed 
you  to  be  young  and  good-looking,  of 
such  sort,  that  I  doubt  if  all  Phrygia 
supports  another  like  you,  and  I  con- 
gratulate you  on  your  good  looks  :  but  I 
blame  you,  that  you  do  not  leave  these 
lonely  cliffs  and  these  rocks,  and  go  and 
live  in  the  city,  instead  of  wasting  your 
sweetness  on  the  desert  air.  For  what 
enjoyment  can  such  as  you  obtain  from 
the  mountains  ?  And  what  satisfaction 
can  your  cows  derive  from  your  hand- 
some face  ?  You  ought  by  this  time  to 
have  married  —  not,  however,  some  hoy- 
denish  and  rustic  girl,  such   as  are   the 


149 


'.•'.•<E»>*;.''Vj 


•.V->'.V?T 


women  of  Ida,  but  some  girl  out  of 
Hellas,  from  Argos,  or  from  Korinth, 
or  a  Spartan  lady,  such  as  Helen,  young 
and  beautiful,  and  in  no  way  inferior  to 
myself;  and,  what  is,  indeed,  most  to  the 
point,  of  an  amorous  disposition.  For, 
I  tell  you,  if  she  were  but  only  to  see 
you,  she  would,  I  am  sure,  leave  all  and 
give  herself  up  soul  and  body  to  you,  and 
would  follow  your  fortunes  and  live  with 
you.  But,  surely,  even  you  have  heard 
something  of  her  fame. 

Paris.  Not  a  word,  Aphrodite,  and  I 
should  now  be  glad  to  hear  from  you  a 
full  account  of  her. 

Aph.  She  is  the  daughter  of  Leda,  the 
famous  beauty,  to  whom  Zeus  flew  down 
in  the  shape  of  a  swan. 

Paris.  What  is  she  like  to  look  at  ? 

Aph.  Pale  and  fair,  as  the  daughter 
of  a  swan  might  be  expected  to  be,  and 
delicate,  like  one  bred  in  an  egg ;  trained 
naked,  for  the  most  part,  in  the  gymna- 


150 


sium,  and  skilled  in  the  art  of  wrestling. 
And  she  has  been,  in  a  manner,  so  much, 
indeed,  in  request  that  there  has  even  been 
a  war  on  her  account,  Theseus  having 
run  away  with  her  when  not  yet  in  her 
teens:  not,  indeed,  but  that,  since  she 
arrived  at  her  majority,  all  the  g,reatest 
princes  of  the  Achaeans  met  together  to 
woo  her,  and  Menelaus,  of  the  family 
of  the  Pelopidze,  was  preferred.  If  you 
wish  it,  I  say,  I  will  bring  about  the 
nuptials   for  you. 

Paris.  What,  with  a  girl  already 
married  ? 

Aph.  You  are  young  and  countrified. 
I  know,  however,  how  affairs  of  this  sort 
are  to  be  managed. 

Paris.  How  ?  For  I  should  like  to 
know,  too,  myself. 

Aph.  You  will  set  out  on  your  travels, 
as  if  with  the  purpose  of  seeing  Hellas, 
and,  as  soon  as  ever  you  arrive  at  Lace- 
daemon,  Helen  shall  see  you  ;  and  from 


^•^ 


iSi 


r^ 


that  moment  it  would  be  my  business 
that  she  shall  fall  in  love,  and  run  away 
with  you. 

Paris.  That's  the  very  thing  that  to  me 
seems  hard  to  believe  —  that  she  should 
leave  her  husband,  and  be  ready  to  sail 
off  with  a  foreigner  and  a  stranger. 

Aph.  As  far  as  that's  concerned,  have 
no  fear,  for  I  have  two  handsome  boys. 
Desire  and  Love  :  them  I  will  give  you 
to  be  guides  of  the  way ;  and  Love, 
stealthily  assailing  her  with  all  his  might, 
will  compel  the  lady  to  fall  in  love, 
while  Desire,  shedding  his  whole  influ- 
ence over  yourself,  will  render  you  what 
he  is  himself,  an  object  of  desire  and  of 
love  —  and  I  will  be  present  in  person 
to  assist  them.  I  will  request  of  the 
Graces,  also,  to  attend  you,  so  that  all 
of  us  together  may  persuade  her. 

Paris.  How  it  will  all  turn  out,  is  not 
clear.  Aphrodite.  But  I  am  already  in 
love  with   this    Helen,   and    I    fancy,  I 


152 


don't  know  how,  I  even  see  her,  and  am 
on  my  voyage  straight  for  Hellas,  and 
am  staying  at  Sparta  —  yes,  and  am  now 
returning  home  with  my  wife,  and  I  feel 
vexed  I  am  not  already  engaged  about 
all  this. 

Aph.  Don't  fall  in  love,  Paris,  before 
you  have  rewarded  your  match-maker 
and  the  bridesmaid  with  your  favourable 
sentence  :  for  it  would  be  proper  for  me, 
too,  to  be  with  you  as  the  bringer  of 
victory,  and  at  once  to  celebrate  your 
marriage  and  to  sing  your  triumphal 
odes.  For  it  is  in  your  own  power  to 
purchase  everything  —  love,  beauty,  mar- 
riage —  with  this  apple  here. 

Paris.   I  am  afraid  that,  after  the  ver- 
dict, you  may  forget  me. 

Aph.  Would  you  have  me,  then,  give 
you  my  oath  upon  it  ? 

Paris.  Not  at  all.      But  just  promise 
me  once  again. 

Aph.   I   promise  you,   I  say,  to  give 


W 


feii^ 


153 


:^ 


over  to  you  Helen  for  your  wife,  and 
that  she  shall  run  away  with  you  and 
shall  come  to  Ilium  to  you  ;  I  myself 
will  certainly  be  present,  and  will  assist 
you  in  everything. 

Paris.  And  you  will  bring  Love  and 
Desire  and  the  Graces  ? 

Aph.  Be  sure  of  it,  and  I  will  take 
with  me  Passionate  Longing  and  Hymen, 
besides. 

Paris.  On  these  conditions,  then,  I 
give  the  apple  to  you  :  on  these  condi- 
tions receive  it. 


fv-' 


^/K"^ 


:j^^ 


154 


k^ 


^ 


VI. 

AN    OVERWORKED    IM- 
MORTAL 

HERMES  COMPLAINS  TO  HIS  MOTHER  OF 
THE  MULTIPLICITY  OF  HIS  EMPLOY- 
MENTS 


Her.  ^crying'].  Why,  mother,  is 
any  God  in  Heaven  more  thoroughly 
wretched  than  I  ? 

Maia.  Pray,  don't  talk  in  that  way, 
my  dear  Hermes. 

Her.  Why  should  not  I  talk  so,  who 
have  such  a  number  of  duties  to  attend 
to ;  toiling  as  I  do  all  alone,  and  dis- 
tracted to  so  many  services  ?  For,  as 
soon  as  I  am  up  at  daybreak,  I  have 
to  sweep  out  our  banqueting-hall,  and 
after  carefully  arranging  the  couches, 
and    putting    each     particular    thing    in 


f/'//'  ''h 


^>; 


% 


^^ 


f^rm 


^^m 


155 


Sf 


order,  I  have  to  take  my  place  at  the 
side  of  Zeus,  and  carry  about  in  all 
directions  the  messages  I  receive  from 
him,  running  up  and  down  the  whole 
day  like  a  courier.  And,  as  soon  as  I 
have  returned  up  here  again,  while  still 
covered  with  dust,  I  must  hand  him  the 
ambrosia.  Before,  too,  this  lately  pur- 
ch?sed  cupbearer  arrived,  it  was  my 
business  to  pour  in  the  nectar,  also. 
But,  what  is  most  dreadful  of  all,  is, 
that  I  alone  of  all  the  Gods,  get  no  sleep 
even  at  night :  but  I  must  needs,  also, 
be  then  conducting  souls  to  Pluto,  and 
acting  as  marshal  of  dead  men,  and 
dance  attendance  in  his  Court  of  Justice. 
For  my  employments  by  day  are  not 
enough  —  to  take  my  place  in  the  Pa- 
laestra, and  even  to  act  as  herald  in  the 
representative  assemblies,  and  to  train 
orators  —  but,  parcelled  out  as  I  am 
already,  for  all  these  services,  I  must, 
also,  take  part  in  the  affairs  of  the  dead. 


156 


And  yet  the  sons  of  Leda  take  their 
places,  each  in  turn,  every  other  day  in 
Heaven  and  in  Hades:  but  I  must  per- 
force, be  about  my  duties  here  and  there. 
The  sons  of  Alkmena  and  Semele,  too, 
born  of  wretched  women,  though  they 
be,  feast  without  care ;  whereas  I,  the 
son  of  Maia,  the  daughter  of  Atlas,  wait 
upon  them.  And  now,  having  but  just 
come  from  Sidon,  from  the  daughter  of 
Kadmus,  to  whom  he  has  sent  me  to  see 
what  the  girl  is  about ;  and,  before  even 
I  have  had  time  to  get  my  breath,  he 
packs  me  off  again  to  Argos  to  look 
after  Danae.  "  Then  go  from  thence," 
says  he,  "  into  Boeotia,  and  have  a  look 
at  Antiope  by  the  way,"  In  truth,  I  am 
quite  done  up,  and  give  in.  If  I  could, 
I  vow  I  would  gladly  claim  my  right  to 
be  sold  like  those  slaves  on  the  earth 
who  are  vilely  treated. 

Maia.   Don't  mind  these  things,  child; 
for  you  must,  perforce,  be  submissive  to 


m^ 


157 


158 


VII. 
AN   AMBITIOUS    HORSEMAN 

HELIOS,  ACCUSED  BY  ZEUS  OF  RASH  CON- 
DUCT IN  GIVING  UP  HIS  CHARIOT  TO 
HIS  SON,  OBTAINS  A  CONDITIONAL 
PARDON 


Zeus.  What  have  you  done,  worst  of 
Titans  ?  you  have  ruined  everything  on 
the  Earth  by  trusting  that  chariot  of  yours 
to  a  foolish  youth  who  has  burned  up 
the  one  half  of  the  world  by  being  car- 
ried too  near  the  Earth,  and  the  other 
half  has  caused  to  be  utterly  destroyed 
by  cold,  by  withdrawing  heat  too  far 
from  it ;  and,  in  fine,  there  is  nothing 
whatever  that  he  has  not  utterly  thrown 
into  disturbance  and  confusion.  Indeed, 
if  I  had  not  perceived  what  had  hap- 
pened, and   hurled  him  down  with   my 


-^^s- 


? 


!=^r^.-l 


159 


iak***S 


thunderbolt,  there  would  have  remained 
not  even  a  remnant  of  the  human  species. 
Such  an  excellent  driver  and  charioteer 
have  you  sent  forth,  in  that  fine  son  of 
yours. 

Helios.  I  committed  an  error,  Zeus 
but  don't  be  hard  upon  me,  since  I  was 
prevailed  upon  by  my  son  with  his  fre- 
quent entreaties  :  for  from  whence  could 
I  have  at  all  expected  that  so  tremendous 
a  mischief  could  come  about  ? 

Zeus.  Did  you  not  know  what  ex- 
treme caution  the  matter  needed,  and 
that  if  one  swerved  ever  so  little  from 
the  road,  everything  was  ruined  ?  Were 
you  ignorant,  too,  of  the  temper  of  the 
horses,  and  how  absolutely  necessary  it 
is  to  hold  a  tight  rein  ?  For,  if  one 
slackens  it  at  all,  they  immediately  take 
the  bit  in  their  mouths ;  just  as,  in  fact, 
they  ran  away  with  him,  now  to  the  left, 
and,  after  a  space,  to  the  right,  and 
sometimes   in  the  opposite   direction    to 


1 60 


their  course,  and  upwards  and  down- 
wards, in  fine,  where  they  themselves 
had  a  mind  to  go ;  while  he  did  not 
know  how  to  treat  them. 

Helios.  All  this,  indeed,  I  knew,  and 
for  that  reason  I  for  a  long  time  re- 
sisted, and  would  not  trust  the  driving 
to  him  :  but,  when  he  begged  me  over 
and  over  again  with  tears,  and  his 
mother  Klymene  with  him,  after  mount- 
ing him  on  the  chariot  I  cautioned  him 
how  he  must  stand  firmly,  and  how  far 
he  should  allow  his  horses  to  go  into 
the  higher  regions,  and  be  borne  aloft ; 
then  how  far  he  must  direct  them* down- 
wards again,  and  how  he  must  have 
complete  control  of  the  reins,  and  not 
surrender  them  to  the  fieriness  of  his 
steeds.  And  I  told  him,  too,  how  great 
was  the  peril,  if  he  did  not  keep  the 
straight  road.  Well,  he — mere  boy 
that  he  was  —  taking  his  stand  upon 
such  a  tremendous  fire-chariot,  and  peer- 


'^, 


i6i 


ing  down  Into  the  yawning  abyss,  was 
seized  with  sudden  terror,  as  was  to  be 
expected ;  while  the  horses,  when  they 
perceived  that  it  was  not  I  who  was 
mounted  upon  the  vehicle,  not  heeding 
the  youthful  driver,  swerved  from  their 
proper  route,  and  caused  this  terrific 
calamity.  Then  he,  letting  go  the  reins 
from  sheer  fright,  I  suppose,  lest  he 
should  be  thrown  out  himself,  clung  to 
the  front  rail  of  the  chariot  —  but  he 
now  has  received  the  reward  of  his  rash- 
ness, and  for  me,  Zeus,  the  consequent 
grief  ought  to  be  enough  punishment. 

Zei/s.  Enough  punishment,  do  you 
say,  you  who  have  rashly  risked  all  this ! 
However,  I  will  grant  your  pardon  now, 
for  this  time  :  but,  for  the  future,  if  you 
transgress  at  all  in  a  similar  fashion,  or 
despatch  any  similar  substitute  for  your- 
self, you  shall  at  once  know  of  how 
much  more  fiery  virtue  is  my  thunderbolt 
than  your  fire.     So  now  let  his  sisters 


162 


(V.Viij. 


k 


Za 


bury  him  near  the  Eridanus,  whereabouts 
he  fell,  when  he  was  pitched  out,  weeping 
amber  over  him  ;  and  let  them  become 
poplars  out  of  their  grief  for  him  :  but 
do  you,  for  your  part,  put  your  chariot  to 
pieces  again  —  both  its  pole  is  broken  in 
two,  and  one  of  the  wheels  is  completely 
smashed  —  and  yoking  your  horses  drive 
on  once  more.  Well,  keep  in  mind  all 
these  injunctions. 


/  'i)i 


vi 


//Vj 


163 


^"i^fo: 


VIII. 
A   ONE-EYED   LOVER 

DORIS  RIDICULES  THE  FIGURE  AND  MAN- 
NERS OF  POLYPHEMOS,  THE  LOVER 
OF    GALATEIA 

Doris.  A  handsome  lover,  my  dear 
Galateia,  that  Sicilian  shepherd  they  say 
is  so  madly  in  love  with  you  ! 

Galateia.  Don't  sneer,  Doris,  for  he 
is  Poseidon's  son,  whatever  he  may  be 
like. 

Doris.  What  then  ?  If  he  were  even 
the  son  of  Zeus  himself,  and  showed  so 
savage  and  uncouth  a  figure  ;  and,  most 
unsightly  of  all  his  ugliness,  possessed 
only  one  eye,  do  you  imagine  his  birth 
would  at  all  avail  him,  in  comparison 
with  his  shape  ? 

Gal.  Not  even  his  uncouthness  and 


164 


m^ 


f  * 


his  savageness  fas  you  call  it)  is  without 
its  charm  —  for  it  gives  him  a  manly 
air ;  and  his  eye  becomes  his  forehead, 
and  sees  not  less  than  if  there  were 
two. 

Doris.  You  seem,  Galateia,  to  con- 
sider your  Polyphemos  not  as  the  court- 
ing, but  as  the  courted,  one,  such  are 
your  praises  of  him. 

Gal.  Courted,  no,  but  I  cannot  en- 
dure that  excessive  proclivity  of  yours  to 
finding  fault,  and  you  others  seem  to  me 
to  do  it  from  envy  ;  because,  when,  some 
time  ago,  he  was  tending  his  flocks,  and 
had  a  glimpse  of  us  from  his  clifF,  as  we 
were  sporting  upon  the  shore,  at  the  foot 
of  ^tna,  where  it  extends  between  the 
mountain  and  the  sea,  he  did  not  even 
look  at  you  others,  whereas  I  appeared 
to  him  as  the  most  beautiful  of  all  of  us, 
and  so  he  kept  his  eye  upon  me  alone. 
It  is  this  that  vexes  you,  for  it  is  a  proof 
that  I  am  superior,  and  deserving  to  be 


f 


A^ 


165 


loved ;  while  you  other  nymphs  have 
been  neglected. 

Doris.  If  you  appear  beautiful  to  the 
eyes  of  a  keeper  of  sheep  and  to  a  fellow 
who  wants  an  eye,  do  you  suppose  you 
are  an  object  of  envy  ?  and,  besides,  what 
else  had  he  to  commend  in  you  than  your 
white  skin  ?  and  that,  I  suppose,  because 
he  is  accustomed  to  cheese  and  milk : 
everything,  therefore,  resembling  those 
things  he  considers  beautiful.  For  as  to 
other  charms,  whenever  you  wish  to  dis- 
cover what  you  are  really  like,  stoop  from 
some  rock,  when  the  sea  is  calm,  over 
the  water,  and  behold  yourself  to  be 
nothing  else  than  an  exceedingly  white 
skin  ;  and  that  is  not  commended  unless, 
too,  there  is  colour  to  set  it  off. 

Gal.  Yet  I,  so  purely  white  as  I  am, 
nevertheless  have  a  lover,  though  it's 
only  he ;  whereas  there  is  not  one  of 
you  whom  either  shepherd,  or  sailor,  or 
boatman     praises.       And     my   Polyphe- 


i66 


// 


\\^"l^^ 


[m^^ 


mos,  among  other  merits,  is  also  musi- 
cal. 

Doris.  Hold  your  tongue,  Galateia ; 
we  heard  his  singing,  when  but  now  he 
came  serenading  to  you.  So  may  Aphro- 
dite be  my  friend,  one  would  have  imag- 
ined an  ass  was  braying.  And  his  very 
lyre —  what  a  thing  it  was !  The  bare 
skull  of  a  stag,  and  the  horns  served  as 
the  handles,  and  he  bridged  them,  and 
fitted  in  the  strings,  without  even  twist- 
ing them  round  a  peg,  and  then  began  to 
perform  some  horribly  unmusical  and  un- 
melodious  melody ;  himself  roaring  out 
one  thing,  and  his  lyre  accompanying  him 
to  something  else,  so  that  we  could  not 
even  restrain  our  laughter  at  that  fine 
love  ditty.  Why,  Echo  would  not  even 
return  any  reply  to  his  bellowing,  loqua- 
cious as  she  is ;  but  was  ashamed  to 
appear  to  imitate  his  uncouth,  ridiculous 
music.  And,  then,  the  amiable  creature 
was   carrying  in   his  arms,   for   a   play- 


167 


thing,  a  bear's  cub,  resembling  himself  in 
shagginess.  Who,  pray,  would  not  envy 
you,  my  Galateia,  such  a  lover  ? 

Gal.  Do  you  then,  my  dear  Doris, 
show  us  your  own  adorer,  who  is,  doubt- 
less, handsomer,  and  more  of  a  musician, 
and  better  skilled  in  performing  on  the 
cithara. 

Doris.  Nay,  I  have  no  adorer,  nor 
do  I  pride  myself  on  being  admired.  But 
as  for  your  Cyclops,  such  as  he  is,  with 
the  rank  odour  of  a  he-goat  —  a  cannibal, 
as  they  say,  and  who  feeds  upon  strangers 
who  come  to  his  country  —  may  he  be 
yours  and  welcome,  and  may  you  fully 
return  his  affection  ! 


'mmm 


:  I.,  (-.ij' ////.' 


1 68 


169 


it  is  better  to  come  to  a  definite  under- 
standing about  it  between  ourselves,  and 
less  likely  to  cause  trouble. 

Her.  I  procured  to  your  order  an 
anchor  at  five  drachmae. 

Cha.  a  high  price  ! 

Her.  By  Pluto,  I  purchased  them  at 
the  full  sum  of  the  five  pieces,  and  a 
leathern  thong  for  the  oar  for  two  oboli. 

Cha.  Set  down  five  drachmae  and  two 
oboli. 

Her.  And  a  darning-needle  for  mend- 
ing the  sail.  Five  oboli  I  paid  down  for 
that. 

Cha.  Set  down  those,  too. 

Her.  And  bees'-wax  to  fill  up  the 
chinks  in  our  little  craft,  and  nails,  too, 
and  a  small  rope,  of  which  you  made 
the  brace  —  two  drachmae  in  all. 

Cha.  And  you  made  a  good  bargain 
there. 

Her.  That  is  the  whole  sum,  unless 
something  else  has  altogether  escaped  me 


170 


in  the  reckoning.     And  when,  then,  do 
you  say  that  you  will  repay  me  this  ? 

Cha.  Just  now,  my  dear  Hermes,  it 
is  quite  impossible.  But  if  some  pesti- 
lence or  war  should  send  us  down  some 
shoals  of  men,  it  will  then  be  in  my 
power  to  make  profits  by  cooking  the 
accounts  of  the  fares. 

Her.  Am  I,  then,  now  to  take  my 
seat,  praying  for  the  worst  to  happen, 
with  the  mere  chance  that  I  may  get 
something  from  it  ? 

Cha.    There     is     nothing     for    you 
otherwise,  Hermes.     Just  now,   as  you 
see,  few  come  to  us  :   peace  prevails. 

Her.  Better  so,  even  though  payment 
of  your  debt  due  to  me  must  be  post- 
poned by  you.  But,  however,  the  men 
of  former  times,  Charon —  you  know  in 
what  sort  they  used  to  come  to  us, 
nearly  all  of  them,  covered  all  over  with 
blood,  and  riddled  with  wounds,  the  ma- 
jority of  them.      But,   nowadays,   it    is 


171 


either  some  one  who  has  died  by  poison 
at  the  hands  of  his  son  or  of  his  wife ; 
or  who  is  swollen  out  in  his  stomach  and 
legs  by  gluttony  —  pallid  and  paltry  — 
not  at  all  like  their  predecessors.  The 
most  of  them  come  here,  by  plotting  one 
against  the  other  for  the  sake  of  money, 
to  judge  by  their  appearance. 

Cha.  Yes,  for  that  is  an  article  ex- 
ceedingly much  loved. 

Her.  Then,  surely,  neither  could  I  be 
thought  to  be  wrong  in  so  keenly  de- 
manding payment  of  your  debt. 


172 


CHARON'S   FREIGHT 

ALARMING  NUMBER  OF  GHOSTS 
CROWD  TO  THE  STYX.  CHARON, 
FEARING  FOR  HIS  BOAT,  DIRECTS 
HERMES  TO  SEE  THAT  THEY  ARE 
ENTIRELY  STRIPPED  OF  THEIR  VA  - 
RIOUS  INSIGNIA  OF  POWER,  RANK, 
WEALTH,  AND  THE  MIGHTY  LOAD 
OF  VICES,  BEFORE  THEY  ARE  AD- 
MITTED ON  BOARD. 
WHO  IS  ONE  OF  THE  PASSENGERS, 
AVAILS  HIMSELF  OF  THE  OPPOR  - 
TUNITY  FOR  RIDICULING  AND 
RAILING  AT  THE  BEWAILING 
GHOSTS 

Cha.  Just  hear  a  moment  how  mat- 
ters Stand  with  us.  Our  little  craft,  as 
you  observe,  is  a  small   one,  and   it   is 


^73 


^N 


'.^v'^^N^Il 


somewhat  rotten,  and  leaks  in  most 
parts  ;  and,  were  it  to  incline  to  either 
side,  it  would  completely  overturn  and 
go  to  the  bottom ;  and  yet  you  come 
crowding  together  at  the  same  time,  each 
of  you  carrying  a  lot  of  luggage.  If, 
then,  you  were  to  embark  with  all  this, 
I  am  afraid  that  you  may  have  reason  to 
repent  later,  and  especially  as  many  of 
you  as  don't  know  how  to  swim. 

Dead   Men.   What  shall  we  do,  then, 
to  secure  a  safe  passage  ? 

Cha.  I  will  tell  you.  You  must  em- 
bark stripped  of  everything,  and  leave 
all  these  superfluous  things  upon  the 
shore :  for  scarcely  even  so  will  the 
ferry-boat  receive  you.  —  But  it  will  be 
your  care,  Hermes,  from  this  moment, 
to  receive  none  of  them  who  should  not 
come  in  light  marching  order,  and  throw 
away,  as  I  said,  his  furniture  and  mov- 
able property.  Now,  take  your  stand 
near  the  gangway,  and  narrowly  examine 


i^A' 


,(j^y» 


i\M(»1r\^» 


174 


them,  and  help  them  up,  compelling 
them  to  embark  stripped  of  everything. 

Her.  You  say  well,  and  so  let  us  do. 
—  Who  is  this  first  man  here  ? 

Menippos.  It  is  I,  Menippos.  There, 
see,  Hermes,  let  my  wallet-bag  and  my 
staff  be  both  tossed  away  for  good  into 
your  lake ;  and  as  for  my  tattered  cloak, 
I  have  obligingly  not  even  brought  it. 

Her.  Come  on  board,  friend  Menip- 
pos, best  of  men,  and  take  the  place  of 
precedence,  by  the  side  of  the  helmsman, 
on  deck,  that  you  may  supervise  the 
whole  of  them.  But  this  handsome  fel- 
low, who  is  he  ? 

Charmolaos.  Charmolaos,  of  Meg- 
ara,  he  who  was  so  much  run  after, 
whose  kiss  was  worth  two  talents. 

Her.  So,  then,  pray,  off  with  your 
good  looks  and  your  lips  with  their 
kisses  and  all,  and  that  long,  flowing 
hair,  and  the  blush  on  your  cheeks,  and 
your  entire   hide.     'Tis  well ;    you   are 


175 


now  succinctly  equipped  :  come  on  board 
now.  And  you  there,  the  gentleman 
with  the  purple  robe  and  the  diadem,  you 
with  the  grim  countenance  —  who  may 
you  be  ? 

Lampichos.  Lampichos,  autocrat  of 
the  Gelensians. 

Her.  Why,  pray,  Lampichos,  are  you 
here  with  so  many  valuables  ? 

Lam.  What,  then  ?  Ought  a  prince 
to  come  stripped  of  everything  ? 

Her.  a  prince,  of  course  not  —  a 
dead  man,  certainly.  So  divest  yourself 
of  these  things  at  once. 

Lam.  There,  my  wealth  has  been 
cast  aside,  at  your  pleasure. 

Her.  Cast  off  at  once,  too,  your 
bloated  pride,  Lampichos,  and  your  su- 
perciliousness ;  for,  if  they  be  shipped 
with  you,  they  will  weigh  the  boat 
down. 

Lam.  Permit  me,  at  all  events,  pray, 
to  keep  my  diadem  and  my  royal  mantle. 


176 


f£s-* 


aJ\ 


Her.  By  no  means  —  but  leave  them 
behind,  too. 

Lam.  Well,  what  more  ?  for  I  have 
abandoned  everything,  as  you  see. 

Her.  Your  cruelty  and  your  folly, 
and  your  insolence  and  your  rage,  these 
you  must  abandon  as  well. 

Lam.  See,  I  am  bare  of  everything,  at 
your  service. 

Her.  Come  on  board  now.  —  Well, 
you  fat,  gross  fellow,  you  with  the  loads 
of  flesh,  who  may  you  be  ? 

Damasias.   Damasias,  the  athlete. 

Her.  Yes,  so  it  seems ;  for  I  know 
you  from  having  frequently  had  a  look 
at  you  in  the  Gymnasia. 

Dam.  Yes,  Hermes ;  but  take  me  in, 
now  that  I  am  stripped  and  bare. 

Her.  Not  stripped  and  bare,  my  fine 
sir,  as  long  as  you  are  clothed  in  such 
lumps  of  flesh.  So  put  them  off,  since 
you  will  sink  our  craft  if  you  put  but 
one  foot  on  board.     Yes,  toss  away  at 


177 


» 


once,  also,  those  crowns,  and  the  records 
of  your  publicly-proclaimed  victories. 

Dam.  See,  I  am  truly  and  actually 
stripped,  at  your  service,  as  you  see,  and  of 
equal  weight  with  the  rest  of  the  dead  men. 

Her.  It  is  better  to  be  thus  un- 
weighted. So  come  on  board. — And  as 
for  you,  Kraton,  strip  yourself  at  once 
of*  your  riches,  and  your  effeminacy  be- 
sides, and  your  luxury,  and  bring  neither 
your  funeral-robes  nor  your  ancestral  dig- 
nities, but  leave  behind  both  your  pride 
of  birth  and  vain-glory,  and  if  ever  the 
State  by  public  proclamation  has  allowed 
you  inscriptions  on  your  statues,  leave 
them  behind,  too ;  nor  bring  us  any 
story  of  their  having  piled  a  huge  tomb 
over  you.  For  even  the  very  mention 
of  these  things  makes  a  difference  in  the 
weight. 

Kraton.  It's  against  my  will ;  how- 
ever, I  will  cast  them  off;  for  what  can 
I  do? 


178 


imm 


Her.  [seeing  a  general  in  full  accoutre- 
ment s\.  Bless  me!  And  you  gentleman 
armed  cap-a-pied^  what  do  you  want  ? 
or  why  are  you  carrying  this  trophy  ? 

General.  Because  I  gained  a  battle, 
and  won  the  prize  of  valour,  and  the 
State  did  me  that  honour. 

Her.  Leave  your  trophy  upon  Earth  ; 
for  in  Hades  reigns  peace,  and  there  will 
be  no  need  of  weapons.  —  But  this  gen- 
tleman, so  majestic  in  his  dress,  and  who 
gives  himself  such  airs  in  it,  who  elevates 
his  eyebrows,  who  is  wrapped  in  medi- 
tation, who  is  he  —  he,  I  mean,  who 
wears  the  long,  thick  beard  ? 

Men.  a  species  of  philosopher  (so- 
called),  Hermes,  but  rather  (in  fact)  a 
juggler  and  a  fellow  stuffed  full  of  pre- 
ternatural pretensions.  So  strip  him 
too ;  for  you  will  see  many  and  truly 
ridiculous  things  stowed  away  under  his 
cloak. 

Her.  Off  you,  in  the  first  place,  with 


^1 


179 


^^^'^ 


»1 


^^ 


^^* 


^*<^      KHjll 


<>^ 


!^#> 

^j»i^ 


your  clothes ;  next,  with  all  those  things 
there.  O  Zeus !  what  arrogance  he 
bears  about  him,  and  what  ignorance, 
and  disputation,  and  vain-glory,  and  use- 
less questions,  and  thorny  argumenta- 
tions, and  intricate  conceits  !  Yes,  and 
a  vast  amount  of  vain  labour,  and  trifling 
not  a  little,  and  nonsense,  and  frivolous 
talk,  by  heaven  !  ^producing  the  treasures 
concealed  under  the  sophist's  cloak]  and 
gold  coin  here,  and  hedonism,  and  shamc- 
lessness,  and  passion,  and  luxury  and 
effeminacy.  For  they  don't  escape  my 
observation,  however  well  you  conceal 
them  about  your  person.  Now,  off  this 
instant  with  your  lying,  and  your  swollen 
pride,  and  the  notion  that  you  are  better 
than  the  rest  of  the  world  ;  since,  if  you 
were  to  rome  on  board  with  all  this, 
what  ordinary  ship  of  war  would  ever 
take  you  ? 

Philosopher.  I  divest  myself  of  them, 
then,  since  you  so  order. 


1 80 


Men.  Nay,  but  let  him  put  off,  too, 
that  beard,  Hermes,  heavy  and  shaggy, 
as  you  observe.  There  are,  at  the  least, 
five  pounds  of  hair. 

Her.  You  are  right.  Off  with  that 
also. 

Phil.  And  who  will  be  the  barber  ? 

Her.  Menippos  here  will  take  the 
ship-carpenter's  axe  and  will  chop  it 
off,  making  use  of  the  gangway  as  a 
block. 

Men.  No,  Hermes ;  but  hand  me  up 
a  saw  —  for  that  will  be  more  entertain- 
ing. 

Her.  The  axe  will  do.  —  Well  done  ! 
Now  that  you  have  divested  yourself  of 
your  he-goatish  odours,  you  turn  out 
more  like  a  man. 

Men.  Do  you  want  me  to  remove  a 
little  from  his  eyebrows  ? 

Her.  By  all  means ;  for  he  raises 
them  ever  above  his  forehead,  stretch- 
ing   himself    upwards  —  why,    I    don't 


i8i 


know.  —  What's  this  ?  Do  you,  indeed, 
weep,  vile  scum  !  and  grow  cowardly  in 
face  of  death  ?  Embark,  now,  immedi- 
ately. 

Men.  One  thing  —  the  heaviest  of 
all  —  he  is  keeping  under   his  arm-pits. 

Her.   What  is  it,  Menippos  ? 

Men.  Fawning  flattery,  Hermes, 
which  has  much  served  him  in  his  life. 

Phil.  Do  you  too,  then,  Menippos, 
put  off  your  freedom,  and  assurance,  and 
unconcern,  and  self-satisfaction,  and  ridi- 
cule. Indeed,  you  are  the  only  one  of 
us  all  to  laugh. 

Her.  Don't  do  anything  of  the  kind  : 
on  the  contrary  retain  them,  for  they  are 
light  and  very  portable,  and  serviceable 
for  the  passage.  —  And  the  orator,  you 
there,  off  with  that  so  enormous  a  quan- 
tity of  words  and  verbiage,  and  antith- 
eses, and  nice  balancing  of  clauses,  and 
periods,  and  barbarisms,  and  the  rest  of 
the  heavy  trappings  of  your  orations. 


182 


Orator.  Well,  see,  I  am  stripping 
myself  of  them. 

Her.  It's  well.  So  loose  the  cables  ; 
let  us  haul  up  the  gangway,  let  the 
anchors  be  weighed,  unfurl  the  sail ; 
take  the  helm,  ferryman.  May  we 
have  a  prosperous  voyage  !  —  What  are 
you  groaning  and  lamenting  about,  fools ; 
and  you  philosopher,  in  particular,  who 
just  now  have  had  your  beard  chopped 
ofF? 

Phil.  Because,  Hermes,  I  used  to 
think  that  the  soul  was  immortal. 

Men.  He  lies ;  for  other  matters 
obviously  afflict  him. 

Her.  What  sort  ? 

Men.  That  no  longer  he  will  partake 
of  costly  dinners,  nor  go  out  at  night 
without  anyone's  knowing  it,  with  his 
head  enveloped  in  his  cloak,  and  go  the 
round  of  the  public  stews ;  and,  from 
an  early  hour  in  the  morning,  take  the 
fees  of  the  youths  for  lessons  in  philos- 


mm 


^  (i;:^^ 


183 


ophy,  deceiving  them  all  the  while, 
is  this  that  afflicts  him. 

Phil.  Why,  you,  Menippos,  are  you 
not  grieved  at  being  dead  ? 

Men.  How  ?  I,  who  hurried  to  death 
without  anyone's  summons  ?  But,  while 
we  are  chattering,  is  that  not  some  cry 
I  hear  as  if  of  people  shouting  from 
Earth  ? 

Her.  Yes,  Menippos,  not  from  one 
region  only ;  but  those  who  have  met 
together  in  conclave,  with  pleased  looks, 
are  all  laughing  at  the  death  of  Lam- 
pichos,  while  his  wife  is  seized  hold  of 
by  the  women,  and  her  infants  likewise, 
young  and  tender  as  they  are,  are  being 
assailed  by  the  boys  with  quantities  of 
stones  ;  and  others  are  applauding  Dio- 
phantos,  the  orator,  at  Sikyon,  who  is 
declaiming  funeral  eulogies  over  Kraton 
here  —  and,  by  heaven,  the  mother  of 
Damasias,  with  wailing,  is  now  leading 
off  the  dirge  for  him  with  the  women. 


184 


But  as  for  you,  friend  Menippos,  no  one 
sheds  a  tear  over  you,  and  you  are  all 
alone  in  perfect  peace. 

Men.  By  no  means  so ;  you  will 
shortly  hear  the  dogs  howling  most  pit- 
eously  over  me ;  and  the  crows  flapping 
with  their  wings,  when  they  collect  to- 
gether to  bury  me. 

Her.  You  are  a  fine  fellow,  Menip- 
pos. — Well,  since  we  have  made  the 
passage  {addressing  the  passengers'^^  do 
you  pack  off  to  the  judge's  tribunal, 
proceeding  by  that  straight  road  there ; 
while  I  and  the  ferryman  will  go  for 
others. 

Men.  a  good  voyage  to  you,  Hermes  ! 
—  Well,  let  us,  too,  go  our  way.  Why, 
pray,  are  you  still  lingering  ?  You  will 
most  certainly  have  to  be  judged,  and 
they  say  that  the  sentences  are  severe  — 
wheels,  and  rocks,  and  vultures.  And 
each  one's  life  will  be  clearly  revealed. 


^"iilih 


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'smk 


■■•vj.  »',: .  ■■ 


i\  f. 


i!j^ 


r»«^> 


THE   CONVICTED   ZEUS 


Zeus^   Cyniskos 


Wj 


^^^mm 


^'« 


Cyniskos.  [with  wallet  and  tattered 
cloak].  I  will  not  trouble  you,  Zeus,  about 
such  matters  —  asking  for  wealth,  gold, 
and  kingdoms,  which  are  objects  most 
fervently  prayed  for  by  the  rest  of  the 
world,  and  which  are  not  altogether 
easy  for  you  to  grant.  I  observe,  in- 
deed, that  you  generally  turn  a  deaf 
ear  to  their  prayers.  But  there  is 
one  thing,  and  that  a  very  easy  thing  to 
grant,  I  did  wish  to  obtain  from  you. 

Zeus.  What  is  that,  Cyniskos  ?  For 
you  shall  not  fail  to  get  it,  especially  since, 
as  you  say,  it  is  a  modest  favour  you  ask. 

Cyn.  Just  give  me  an  answer  in  re- 
gard to  a  certain  not  difficult  question. 

Zeus.  Your  petition,  of  a  truth,  is  a 
small  matter  and  soon  settled :  so  ask 
whatever  you  have  a  mind   to  ask. 


:"/fc. 


1 86 


Cyn.  Here  it  is  then,  Zeus.  You 
read,  doubtless,  you  as  well  as  the 
rest,  the  poems  of  Homer  and  Hesiod. 
Tell  me,  pray,  are  those  things  true 
which  these  poets  have  so  magnificently 
declaimed  about  Destiny  and  the  Fates  — 
that  whatever  lot  they  spin  out  for  each 
mortal,  at  his  birth,  is  not  possible  to 
be  avoided  ? 

Zeus.  Indeed,  all  that  is  quite  true  : 
for  there  is  nothing  that  the  Fates  do 
not  ordain  ;  but  all  things  that  happen, 
whatever  they  are,  are  turned  upon  their 
spindle  ;  and  they  have,  each  one  of  them, 
their  final  event,  from  the  very  first, 
strictly  determined  :  nor  is  it  possible  or 
right  for  it  to  be  otherwise. 

Cyn.  Then,  when  the  same  Homer, 
in  another  part  of  his  poem,  says  : 

•'  Lest  to  the  house  of  Aides,  despite  of  Fate, 
he  send  thee," 

and  that  sort  of  thing,  we  must  say,  I 
suppose,  that  he  is  then  talking  nonsense  ? 


187 


•    ^^ 


m 


mMm0i 


Zeus.  Certainly.  For  nothing  could 
happen  so,  independently  of  the  law  of 
the  Fates  —  nothing  beyond  the  stretch 
of  their  thread.  But,  as  for  the  poets, 
whatever  they  sing  under  the  constrain- 
ing inspiration  of  the  Muses,  that  is  truth  : 
when,  however,  the  Goddesses  desert 
them,  and  they  poetize  of  themselves, 
on  such  occasions,  I  say,  they  are  liable 
indeed  to  error,  and  are  apt  to  contradict 
their  former  assertions.  And  they  may 
be  pardoned,  if,  as  they  are  but  men, 
they  don't  know  the  truth,  after  it  has 
left  them,  which,  as  long  as  it  was  present, 
poured  forth  its  strains  through  them. 

Cyn.  Well,  we  will  say  so  then. 
But  further  answer  me  this,  too.  Are 
there  not  three  Fates  —  Klotho,  Lach- 
esis,  and  Atropos  ? 

Zeus.  Of  course. 

Cyn.  Destiny,  then,  and  Chance  — 
for  they,  too,  are  much  in  every  one's 
mouth  —  who  ever  are  they,  and  what 


l88 


power  does  each  of  them  exercise  ? 
Have  they  a  power  equal  to  that  of  the 
Fates,  or  something  even  above  them  ? 
I  hear,  however,  every  one  say  that  noth- 
ing is  more  powerful  than  Chance  and 
Destiny. 

Zeus.  It  is  not  permissible  for  you 
to  know  everything,  Cyniskos.  And 
with  what  purpose,  pray,  did  you  ask 
this  question  about  the  Fates  ? 

Cyn.  I  will  tell  you,  if  you  will  tell 
me  first,  Zeus,  this  too  —  do  they  govern 
you,  as  well ;  and  is  it,  really,  a  matter 
of  necessity  for  you  to  hang  suspended 
by  their  thread  ? 

Zeus.  It  is  matter  of  necessity, 
Cyniskos.    But  why  did  you  smile,  pray  ? 

Cyn.  I  called  to  mind  those  verses 
of  Homer,  in  which  you  have  been  rep- 
resented by  him  as  declaiming  in  the 
popular  Assembly  of  Gods,  when  you 
threatened  them  to  suspend  the  universe 
by  a  certain  golden  chain  —  for  you  as- 


189 


.'^M 


serted  that,  of  yourself,  you  would  let 
down  the  chain  in  question  from  Heaven, 
and  that  all  the  Gods  together,  if  they 
chose,  might  hang  by  it  and  use  all  their 
force  to  pull  it  down,  but  that  they 
certainly  would  not  drag  the  chain  down, 
whereas  you  yourself,  whenever  you 
wished,  easily 

*'  Aloft  could  draw  the  Earth  itself,  and  Sea, 
and  all  within  them." 

On  those  occasions,  I  confess,  you 
appeared  to  me  to  be  admirable  in  your 
strength,  and  I  used  to  shudder  with 
terror  while  I  listened  to  those  verses ; 
whereas  now  I  see  that  all  this  time  you 
have  been  yourself  suspended  with  your 
chain  and  all  your  threats,  by  a  slight 
thread,  as  you  admit.  Klotho,  it  seems 
to  me,  according  to  this,  might  boast  with 
far  more  justness,  as  it  is  she  who  drags 
up   and    hangs   you   in    mid   air  by   her 


•-:»  • •. 


190 


spindle,  for  all  the  world  as  fishermen 
do  their  little  fish  from  their  rod  and 
line. 

Zeus,  [^indignantly'] .  I  don't  know 
what  these  same  questions  of  yours 
mean. 

Cyn.  This,  Zeus  —  and,  by  the  Fates 
and  by  Destiny,  do  not  hear  me  with 
harsh  or  angry  feeling,  if  I  speak  the  truth 
with  freedom.  Why,  if  this  is  so,  and 
the  Fates  rule  all  things,  and  nothing  of 
what  has  once  been  decreed  by  them  can 
be  altered  by  any  one,  with  what  purpose 
do  we  men  offer  sacrifices  and  present 
whole  hecatombs  to  you,  with  prayer 
for  good  things  from  you.  For  I  don't 
see  what  advantage  we  could  get  from 
this  piece  of  attention,  if  neither  it  is 
possible  for  us  to  find,  through  vows  and 
prayers,  means  of  averting  evils,  nor  to 
obtain  any  heaven-given  good. 

Zeus,  [vehemently'^  .  I  know  where  you 
get  those  pretty  questions  from  —  from 


*^if: 


191 


r^ 


those  cursed  sophists,  who  assert  that  we 
don't  even  exercise  any  providential 
superintendence  over  men  ;  and  without 
doubt,  they  ask  such  questions  out  of 
sheer  impiety,  diverting  the  rest  of  man- 
kind from  sacrifice  and  vow-making,  as 
being  quite  useless  ;  seeing,  as  they  affirm, 
we  neither  pay  any  regard  to  what  is  done 
among  you,  nor,  in  fine,  have  any  power 
at  all  in  respect  to  earthly  affairs.  How- 
ever, they  shall  have  no  reason  to  be 
pleased  by  their  pursuance  of  such  in- 
quiries. 

Cyn.  [^ca/m/yl .  No,  by  the  spindle  of 
Klotho,  I  declare,  Zeus,  it  was  not 
from  being  influenced  by  those  people 
that  I  put  these  questions  to  you  ;  but 
our  line  of  discussion  itself,  I  don't  know 
how,  has  gone  on  till  it  ended  in  this  — 
that  sacrifices  are  supererogatory  and 
superfluous.  But  again,  if  you  please,  I 
will  put  the  question  to  you  briefly,  and 
do  not  shrink  from  answering  me,  and  be 


192 


^ 


so  kind  as  to  give  a  more  candid  reply 
than  is  your  wont. 

Zeus.  Ask  away,  if  you  have  leisure 
to  talk  such  trifling  nonsense. 

Cyn.  You  affirm  that  everything  is 
done  by  the  Fates  ? 

Zeus.  Well,  I  do. 

Cyn.  But  that  it  is  in  your  power  to 
alter  their  decrees,  and  to  spin  them 
back  ? 

Zeus.  Not  at  all. 

Cyn.  Would  you  have  me,  then, 
lead  up  to  the  necessary  consequence,  or 
is  it  plain  enough  without  my  mentioning 
it? 

Zeus,  Oh,  quite  plain.  But  those 
who  sacrifice,  do  so,  not  on  account  of 
any  need  for  it  —  to  make  a  return,  and 
as  it  were,  to  purchase  good  things  from 
us ;  but,  in  a  particular  manner,  out  of 
honour  for  what  is  superior  to  themselves. 

Cyn.  [triumphantly].  That's  sufficient 
—  since     even     you     allow    that     the 


t^i 


f^^AT.^^  i 


193 


rv^ 


sacrifices  are  of  no  earthly  use,  but  are 
offered  simply  by  way  of  friendly  feeling 
on  the  part  of  men,  who  honour  the 
superior  power.  Yet  if  any  one  of  those 
sophists  you  speak  of  were  present,  he 
would  ask  you  why  you  affirm  the  Gods 
to  be  superior,  and  that,  seeing  they  are 
fellow-slaves  with  men,  and  under  subjec- 
tion to  the  same  mistresses  —  the  Fates. 
For  the  plea  of  immortality  will  not 
avail  them,  so  as,  on  that  account,  to 
gain  the  reputation  of  superiority  :  be- 
cause that  accident,  in  fact,  makes  it  far 
worse  for  them,  seeing  that  death  would 
have  removed  them  to  a  state  of  free- 
dom ;  while,  as  it  is,  your  business  ends 
only  with  infinity,  and  your  slavery, 
wound  up  with  that  long-reaching  thread, 
is  everlasting. 

Zeus.  But,  Cyniskos,  that  eternity 
and  that  infinity  of  ours  is  a  blessed  one 
for  us,  and  we  live  in  the  enjoyment  of 
all  good  things. 


^i^iil. 


194 


^ 


r^ 


Cyn.  Not  all  of  you,  Zeus.  On  the 
contrary,  even  among  you  your  concerns 
have  been  variously  portioned  out,  and 
considerable  confusion  exists  in  your 
midst.  You,  indeed,  are  fortunate,  for 
you  are  king,  and  can  hoist  up  Earth  and 
Sea  by  just  letting  down  a  bucket-rope, 
as  it  were.  But  Hephaistos  now,  he  is 
lame,  and  a  sort  of  mechanic  and  black- 
smith by  trade  ;  as  for  Prometheus,  he 
was  once  upon  a  time  crucified  —  and  as 
for  your  own  father,  what  shall  I  say 
of  him,  who  is  still  a  prisoner  in 
chains  in  Tartarus  ?  They  do  say  that 
you  Gods  even  play  the  gallant  and  get 
wounded  in  battle,  and  sometimes  work 
with  men  as  slaves,  as  certainly  did  your 
own  brother  with  Laomedon,  and  Apollo 
with  Admetos.  These  circumstances 
don't  seem  to  me  to  be  very  happy  ones  ; 
on  the  contrary,  some  individuals  among 
you  appear  to  be  fortunate  and  lucky, 
and  others  the  opposite.    I  omit,  in  fact. 


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to  mention  that  you  are  apt  to  fall 
among  thieves,  just  as  we  are,  get  robbed 
by  plunderers  of  your  temples,  and  from 
a  state  of  the  greatest  wealth  become 
paupers,  in  the  twinkling  of  an  eye. 
And  many  before  now  have  been  melted 
down,  for  all  their  being  of  gold  or 
silver ;  to  whom,  I  presume,  that  fate 
had  been  destined. 

Zeus  [frowning].  There !  These, 
now,  are  mere  wanton  insults  of  yours, 
Cyniskos.  Indeed,  you  will  repent  of 
them  some  time  or  other. 

Cyn.  Spare  your  threats,  Zeus,  as 
you  know  that  I  shall  suffer  nothing, 
which  has  not  been  determined  by  Fate 
before  you  had  anything  to  do  with  it  : 
since  I  notice  that  not  even  the  robbers 
of  your  temples  themselves  are  all  pun- 
ished ;  on  the  contrary,  the  majority  of 
them  get  away  from  you  scot-free.  In 
fact,  I  suppose  it  had  not  been  fated  for 
them  to  be  caught. 


196 


Zeus.  Did  I  not  say  that  you  are, 
without  doubt,  one  of  those  fellows 
who  are  for  doing  away  with  providence 
by  your  style  of  argument  ? 

Cyn.  You  are  terribly  afraid  of 
them,  Zeus,  I  don't  know  why.  Every- 
thing, in  fact,  I  say,  whatever  it  may 
be,  you  suspect  to  be  their  teaching. 
But  I  —  from  whom  else  should  I  learn 
the  truth  rather  than  from  you  ?  —  I 
should  be  glad  to  ask  you  this,  too,  who 
is  this  "  Providence "  of  yours  ;  is  it 
some  Fate,  or  a  divinity  even  above  her, 
as  it  were,  ruling  over  the  Gods  them- 
selves ? 

Zeus.  I  told  you  already  before  that  it 
is  not  lawful  or  proper  for  you  to  know 
everything.  And  you,  although  at  the 
beginning  you  said  you  would  ask  a 
certain  single  question,  don't  stop  a  mo- 
ment, putting  a  number  of  hair-splitting 
subtleties  to  me  j  and  I  see  it  is  the 
chief  aim  of  your  discourse,  to  prove  we 


iff^ 


197 


exercise  no  providential  care  over  human 
concerns  in  anything. 

Cyn.  That  is  not  my  affair :  but  you 
affirmed,  a  little  before,  that  they  are  the 
Fates  that  accomplish  everything  ;  un- 
less, perchance,  you  repent  of  making 
those  concessions,  and  recall  again  what 
you  have  said,  and  put  in  a  chain  for 
"  Providence,"  and  thrust  Destiny  aside 
altogether. 

Zeus.  By  no  means  ;  on  the  contrary, 
it  is  Fate  that  brings  each  thing  to  pass 
through  our  agency. 

Cyn.  I  understand.  You  say  you 
are  a  kind  of  agents  and  ministers  of  the 
Fates.  But,  however,  even  so,  it  would 
be  they  who  exercise  providence,  while 
you  are,  as  it  were,  a  sort  of  tools  and 
instruments  of  theirs. 

Zeus.   How  ? 

Cyn.  How  ?  Why,  just  as,  I  sup- 
pose, the  carpenter's  axe  and  auger  work 
together,  in   some  sort,  for  the  creation 


198 


^ 


of  the  work  :  but  no  one  would  say  that 
they  are  the  workman  himself,  nor  the 
ship  the  work  of  the  axe  or  the  auger, 
but  of  the  shipwright.  Analogously, 
then,  Destiny  is  she  who  acts  as  the 
shipwright  in  regard  to  each  particular, 
while  you  are,  I  presume,  the  axes  and 
augers  of  the  Fates  :  and,  as  it  seems, 
men  ought  to  ofFer  their  sacrifices  to 
Destiny,  and  demand  their  good  things 
from  her;  whereas  they  approach  you, 
honouring  you  with  their  processions 
and  sacrifices.  And  yet  they  would  not 
do  it  reasonably,  even  in  honour  of  Des- 
tiny. For  I  don't  suppose  it  to  be  pos- 
sible even  for  the  Fates  themselves  to 
change  or  upset  anything  of  what  has 
been  originally  decreed  respecting  each 
several  event.  At  all  events,  Atropos 
would  not  tolerate  it,  if  any  one  were  to 
turn  back  the  spindle,  and  undo  the  work 
of  Klotho. 

Zeus.  And   do    you,   Cyniskos,  now 


'^- 


5=^^5^'.?.'ii 


-Vt 


4ST 


msm/*^m 


199 


^ 


require  that  not  even  the  Fates  be  held 
in  honour  by  men  ?  Well,  you  seem  to 
have  for  your  object  to  throw  everything 
into  confusion.  We,  however,  if  for 
nothing  else,  should  be  justly  honoured, 
at  least,  for  our  giving  out  oracles 
and  predicting  every  particular  thing 
which  has  been  determined  by  the  Fates. 
Cyn.  Upon  a  survey  of  the  whole 
matter,  it  is  useless,  Zeus,  for  those  to 
whom  it  is  altogether  impossible  to  guard 
themselves  against  them,  to  foreknow 
events  that  are  to  take  place ;  unless  you 
say  this — that  one  who  has  learned  before- 
hand that  he  will  have  to  die  by  an  iron 
spear-head,  might  be  able  to  escape  death 
by  shutting  himself  up.  But  that  is  im- 
possible :  for  Fate  will  drag  him  out  to 
set  him  hunting,  and  will  deliver  him  up 
to  the  spear  ;  and  an  Adrastos  will  hurl 
his  javelin  against  the  wild  boar,  and 
will  miss  him,  but  will  slay  the  son 
of  Kroisos ;  just  as  if  the  javelin  had 


20O 


been  carried  against  the  youth  by  ir- 
resistible command  of  the  Fates.  The 
saying  of  Laios  is,  indeed,  ridiculous, 
which  says  :  — 

Sow  not,  in  heaven's  despite,  a  field  of  sons  : 
Sure  death  you'll  meet  from  your  own  prog- 
eny 

For  an  exhortatory  warning  against 
events  that  will  certainly  so  happen  is, 
I  imagine,  superfluous.  So,  in  fact, 
after  the  oracle,  he  did  "  sow,"  and 
"  the  progeny  "  slew  him.  Therefore, 
I  don't  see  upon  what  pretence  you  de- 
mand pay  for  your  oracular  art.  Why, 
I  omit  to  mention  that  you  Gods  are 
accustomed  to  return  to  the  majority  of 
your  clients  oracular  responses  of  double 
and  ambiguous  meaning,  and  don't 
make  it  over  clear,  whether  the  one  who 
crosses  the  Halys  will  destroy  his  own 
kingdom,  or  that  of  Cyrus  :  for  the  oracle 
might  be  made  to  mean  both. 

Zeus.    Apollo,    Cyniskos,   had  some 


201 


cause  for  anger  against  Kroisos,  inasmuch 
as  he  tempted  him  by  boiling  lamb's  flesh 
and  a  tortoise  together. 

Cyn.  As  a  God,  he  ought  not  even  to 
have  been  angry  :  but,  however,  it  had 
been  fated,  I  presume,  for  the  Lydian 
that  he  should  be  deceived  by  the  oracle  ; 
and,  besides.  Destiny  spun  for  him  that 
he  should  not  understand  too  clearly  what 
was  in  store  for  him.  So  even  your 
oracular  art  is  her  work. 

Zeus.  And  do  you  leave  nothing  for 
us,  but  are  we  Gods  without  any  purpose, 
and  do  we  not  import  any  sort  of  prov- 
idence into  human  affairs,  and  are  we, 
like  a  lot  of  axes  and  augers,  in  actual 
fact,  unworthy  of  sacrifices  ?  Indeed, 
I  think  you  quite  reasonably  have  a  su- 
preme contempt  for  me,  because,  as  you 
see,  I  forbear  my  hand,  although  ready 
to  hurl  my  thunderbolt  at  you,  all  the 
time  you  are  making  all  these  cavillings 
against  us. 


202 


M 


■L. 


Cyn.  Shoot  away,  Zeus,  if  it  has 
been  fated  for  me  to  be  struck  by  a  thun- 
derbolt ;  and  I  will  not  blame  you  at  all 
for  the  stroke,  but  Klotho,  who  wounds 
me  by  your  agency  :  for  I  would  not 
affirm  even  that  the  thunderbolt  was  the 
cause  of  the  wound.  However,  I  will 
ask  this  of  you  —  yourself  and  Destiny 
—  and  do  you  answer  me,  also,  on  her 
behalf;  for  you  reminded  me  by  your 
threat :  Why  ever  in  the  world  do  you 
leave  alone  robbers  of  your  temples  and 
pirates,  and  such  a  number  of  insolent 
wrong-doers,  and  men  of  outrage  and 
violence,  and  perjurers,  and  frequently 
cast  your  bolt  against  some  poor  oak,  or 
rock,  or  mast  of  a  ship  that  has  done  you 
no  harm ;  and,  at  times,  against  some 
good  and  just  traveller?  Why  are  you 
silent,  Zeus  ?  Or  is  it  not  lawful  and 
right  for  me  to  know  even  thus  much  ? 

Zeus.  Why,  no,  Cyniskos ;  and  you 
are  a  meddlesome  sort  of  fellow,  and  I 


^,1 


203 


^^^"^^1% 


don't  know  where  you  come  from  with 
these  jumbled-up  arguments. 

Cyn.  Then  may  I  not  even  ask 
you  this  —  you,  I  mean,  and  Providence 
and  Destiny  —  why  ever  did  Phokion, 
that  good  man,  die  in  such  poverty  and 
want  of  the  actual  necessaries  of  life, 
and  Aristeides  before  him ;  while  Kal- 
lias  and  Alkibiades,  youths  unbridled  in 
their  licentiousness,  abounded  in  wealth, 
and  Meidias,  the  insolent  upstart,  and 
Charops  of  Aigina,  a  man  of  infamous 
debauchery,  who  killed  his  mother  by 
starvation.  And,  again,  Sokrates,  why 
was  he  handed  over  to  the  Eleven,  while 
Meletos  was  not  so  ?  and  Sardanapalos, 
why  had  he  kingly  power,  with  his  de- 
bauched character,  and  why  were  such  a 
number  of  good  and  honourable  Persians 
impaled  or  crucified  by  him,  because  they 
were  not  content  with  his  proceedings  ? 
Not  to  mention  to  you  things  of  the 
present  time,  or  further  particularize  — 


204 


"^m 


the  wicked  and  the  avaricious  happy  and 
fortunate,  the  good  driven  and  carried  off 
into  captivity,  oppressed  through  poverty, 
by  diseases,  and  ten  thousand  evils. 

Zeus.  Why,  don't  you  know,  Cynis- 
kos,  what  punishments  the  wicked  endure 
after  this  life,  or  in  how  much  happiness 
the  good  pass  their  time  ? 

Cyn.  You  talk  to  me  of  Hades,  and 
the  Tityoses  and  Tantaloses.  But,  as 
far  as  I  am  concerned,  whether  there  is 
anything  at  all  of  the  sort  I  shall  know 
clearly  enough  when  I  am  dead  :  and,  as 
for  the  present,  I  would  prefer  to  pass 
my  life  happily  during  this  life,  as  long 
as  it  might  be,  and,  after  death,  to  have 
my  liver  gnawed  by  sixteen  vultures  — 
but  not,  while  here,  to  be  as  thirsty  as 
Tantalos ;  and  in  the  Islands  of  the 
Blessed  to  drink,  reclining  in  the  Elysian 
meadows  with  the  heroes. 

Zeus.  What  do  you  say  ?  Do  you 
disbelieve  or  doubt  that  there  are  certain 


>' 


205 


punishments  and  rewards,  and  a  judg- 
ment-seat, where  at  length  each  one's 
life  is  inquired  into  ? 

Cyn.  I  hear  that  a  certain  Minos,  a 
Kretan,  acts  as  judge  in  such  matters ; 
and  answer  me  somewhat  about  him, 
too  :   for  he  is  said  to  be  your  son. 

Zeus.  And  why  do  you  ask  about 
him,  Cyniskos  ? 

Cyn.  Whom  does  he  punish  chiefly  ? 

Zeus.  The  wicked,  of  course,  such 
as  murderers  and  temple  robbers. 

Cyn.  And  whom  does  he  despatch 
to  the  heroes  ? 

Zeus.  The  good  and  holy,  who  have 
lived  virtuously. 

Cyn.  Why,  Zeus .? 

Zeus.  Because  some  deserve  reward, 
others  punishment. 

Cyn.  And,  if  a  man  have  done  some 
dire  action  unwittingly,  does  he  deem  him 
deserving,  too,  of  being  punished  ? 

Zeus.   By  no  means. 


206 


Cyn.  Nor,  I  suppose,  if  a  man  does 
some  good  action  against  his  will,  would 
he  think  it  proper  to  reward  him  either  ? 

Zeus.  Why,  no,  to  be  sure. 

Cyn.  Then  it  befits  him,  Zeus, 
neither  to  punish  nor  to  reward  anybody. 

Zeus.   How,  not  anybody  ? 

Cyn.  Because  we  men  do  nothing 
of  our  own  wills,  but  are  compelled  by 
some  inevitable  necessity,  if,  at  least, 
those  things  are  true  which  have  been 
before  admitted  —  namely,  that  Fate  is 
the  cause  of  everything.  In  fact,  if  a 
man  commit  a  murder,  she  is  the  real 
murderess  ;  and  if  he  rob  a  temple,  he 
does  what  it  has  been  ordered  him  to  do. 
So,  if  Minos  intend  to  give  just  judg- 
ment, he  will  punish  Destiny  instead  of 
Sisyphos,  and  Fate  instead  of  Tantalos. 
For  what  wrong  did  they  commit,  since 
they  obeyed  their  orders  ? 

Zeus  [in  a  towering  rage].  It  is  no 
longer  worth  while  even  to  reply  to  you 


207 


and  your  questions  —  for  you  are  an  im- 
pudent fellow,  and  a  sophist  into  the 
bargain ;  and  I  will  leave  you  and  go 
away  this  moment. 

Cyn.  [calling  after  him].  I  did  want 
to  put  to  you  again  this  question,  too  — 
Where  do  the  Fates  spend  their  days,  or 
how  do  they  manage  to  reach  to  the 
superintendence,  even  to  the  smallest 
particular,  of  so  many  matters  —  and 
that,  though  they  are  only  three  ?  For 
they  seem  to  me  to  live  a  laborious  and 
no  enviable  sort  of  existence,  in  having 
such  a  quantity  of  public  business  j  and, 
as  it  appears,  they  were  born  under  a  not 
altogether  propitious  Destiny,  even  they. 
I,  at  all  events,  if  choice  were  given  to 
me,  would  not  exchange  my  own  life 
with  them,  but  would  pass  through  life 
still  poorer  than  I  am  rather  than  sit 
plying  my  spindle  full  of  such  a  quantity 
of  troublesome  business,  and  looking 
after    each    particular    item.      However, 


208 


since  it  is  not  easy  for  you  to  reply  to 
them,  Zeus,  we  shall  be  even  content 
with  those  answers  which  you  have 
made :  for  they  are  quite  enough  to 
throw  light  upon  the  argument  concern- 
ing Destiny  and  Providence.  As  for  the 
rest,  probably  it  was  not  fated  for  me  to 
hear  them. 


209 


M- 


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